


Missing Pieces

by caffeineandjetfuel



Series: Scratch the Surface [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeineandjetfuel/pseuds/caffeineandjetfuel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Deleted Scenes. Martin's side of events as he struggles with his sexuality and falling in love with his first officer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abu Dhabi

**Author's Note:**

> Guys! Glad to be back, even though it hasn't even been 24 hours since Deleted Scenes got finished. I'm really excited to bring Martin's side to you all and I hope you'll have as much fun reading this one as you did with Douglas. This one will contain some scenes you know but reversed perspective, some scenes you've never seen before, and some awesome backstory for our favorite captain. The big warning here, though, is that there's going to be a lot of internalized homophobia and related issues cropping up in this one as Martin works through accepting himself. I will post trigger warnings on any episodes that are heavy on it, but be warned ahead of time if this bothers you, you probably shouldn't read this one. I do promise a happy ending, though! I'm done with posting an intended schedule so the goal from now on is to update at least every other week if not more often. Let's do this!

Martin pressed his hands nervously against his trousers, wishing he could will away the clammy feeling crawling over his palms. His fingers fluttered nervously to his neck, adjusting his tie for the fiftieth time and trying to pat down his unruly curls one last time before he steeled his nerves and opened the door before him, trying to stand as tall as he could.

The room beyond was devoid of life but had the feel of a lived-in environment. A wide desk sat against one wall with a chair on either side of it to make use of it as two desks instead. The computer sitting atop it was old but still not as ancient as his home one, a printer squashed between the monitor and the wall like an afterthought. The wall above bore a large familiar wall chart covered in scrawling handwriting.

An old couch took up the majority of the opposite wall, covered in superficial scratches and the occasional tear through which stuffing was peeking, the cushions flattened out maintaining the indentations of whoever had spent the years sitting on them. Beside the couch sat a small table with one leg taped together holding the makings for tea, a miniscule fridge underneath it making an odd whirring noise as it struggled to continue maintaining temperature for milk no doubt.

Before he could make heads or tails of the unevenly hung banner declaring welcome strung across the length of the room, the door opposite swung open to give him his first visual of the sharp woman he’d spoken with on the phone. If her voice had been intimidating, her visage was even more so. Her hair was pulled up into an efficient bun, and though she was probably no taller than him she held herself with such command he felt about two inches tall in comparison. Her facial features were piercing, lips set into a firm purse and eyes that felt like daggers.

“H-hello, Ms. Knapp-Shappey,” He began, cringing internally at the memory of their horribly awkward phone conversation, when he had mistakenly referred to her as “Mrs.” and received a brutal verbal laceration for it. He pressed his palms against his trousers again for good measure before offering his hand, willing the tremor out of both the extremity and his voice. “I’m-“

“I know who you are.” She interrupted tersely, staring at his hand as though it had mortally offended her but not taking it, leaving him feeling like an idiot as she turned on her heel and retreated back into the other room. He stood there for a moment as uncertainty crept in, wondering if he should follow her or if this was her not-very-subtle way of telling him to get lost.

“In or out, Martin, don’t waste my time.” She snapped and he scrambled through the door after her, closing it behind him. Her office was tasteful but economical in its décor, set up to get the job done quickly and efficiently. He quietly sat down in one of the two chairs on his side of her desk as she folded her hands in front of her and gave him a look as imperious as any queen.

“I have no interest in dragging this out, as I suspect you have no interest in having it drawn out, so I’m only going to ask you one question. Why should I hire you?” she asked, simply and to the point. Nothing could have prepared him for this interview. No manual and no internet tips. His nerves rose steadily higher and he knew it was a lost cause, he was about to start babbling…and boy did he babble.

“I-I know I haven’t got much experience, a-a-and my cv is-well, it’s nothing impressive at all, and I’m not very-that is, I can be-I mean to say, I…If you’d just give me a chance,” Carolyn, whose sharp gaze had never wavered from maintaining strict eye contact, slid away to her computer, her interest gone. If anything was worse than that intimidating eye contact it was having her just _stop_ paying attention to you. Martin’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he started to get up. “I’ll just see my way ou-“ he cut himself off, thinking of going back to his job, of how awful it would be to go back with another failed interview under his belt, another rejection.

After seven tries to get his license, he’d become horribly familiar with the people and facilities at the testing center…so familiar that his instructor had offered him a job the moment he’d finally passed. It was a pity job, he knew, but any job flying was better than none, right? He’d never been more wrong in his life. As an assistant instructor, he barely got to spend any time in the air, and when he did he never got to fly, just watch other people fly and catch any procedural mistakes they made. Worse still, none of his colleagues took him seriously. He was a joke, the laughingstock of the center. He couldn’t go back there, he just couldn’t.

Heart in his throat, he blurted, “Please, hire me! You don’t even have to pay me much, I-I-I’d do it for half of whatever you paid the last guy.” Desperate, Martin, so so desperate. He immediately felt pathetic, hanging his head in shame.

“…a third.” Carolyn said, and his head snapped up, jaw dropping an inch. She stared back at him resolutely, her computer forgotten for that unwavering attention again. Her words began to sink in and he felt like he was haggling at a street vendor. Wasn’t the first rule never take the first offer? He shook his head emphatically.

“No, I-I can’t possibly accept less than half-“ he started, thinking to himself that he would take the third with a little more goading, just so it seemed like he had put up a fight. Unfortunately for him, Carolyn seemed to be the master at haggling, her eyes slid over to her computer again with disinterest. Panic slithered up his esophagus. “A third! A third, I’ll take a third, a third is fine!”

“Well, now you’ve kept me waiting, wasted my time. My time is money. So you’ll take a quarter and you’ll show up on Monday.” She said with finality, giving him a sideways glance that dared him to argue. He swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, afraid to try to haggle again for fear the sum would drop even lower.

“I’ll…see you Monday…” he murmured, making his way for the door and trying not to seem like he was making a run for it. He was desperate to get out of her radius, out into the air where he might be able to get oxygen back to his brain again. He almost made it.

“How little would you take to be captain?” The words plucked his spine like a bowstring and he froze.

“C-Captain?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Monday came sooner than Martin could possibly have predicted and before he knew it he had driven his van to the air field (Carolyn would procure a taxi for them on overnight trips, but short hops and standby meant you found your own way there), where he sat taking deep, calming breaths for a long moment. He took another look into the overhead mirror, quadruple checking that not a hair was out of place before venturing out of the van. The old thing looked horribly out of place among the personal vehicles littering the car park, especially a beautiful sleek Lexus a few spaces over. One last deep breath and he made his way to the portacabin, hoping at least that some of the crew were present to offset the alarmingly overpowering presence of MJN’s CEO.

He stepped inside and was met by two pairs of eyes. The younger one was tall with chestnut hair and a glaringly red shirt on underneath a waistcoat, but despite his mature clothes exuded a child-like air that seemed to emanate directly from his impish smile. Martin’s heart dropped into his stomach when he saw the other man occupying the portacabin. He was older, probably in his fifties, an aura of experience surrounding him as he lazed his chair back on two legs, his feet propped up on the desk before him. His hair was a rich dark chocolate color and Martin forgot to breath for a moment before he realized the look of derision that was pouring out of the older man’s pores. He swallowed nervously and suddenly wished Carolyn was here after all.

“H-hello, chaps, I’m Mar-“ he backtracked, surely a captain didn’t give first name first? No, he should start with his title. “C-Captain, Captain Mar-“ No, that’s unprofessional, they don’t know you, Martin, go with the last name. “Captain Crieff…” Is that too standoffish? “Martin, is my name.” Well, bollocksed that one. Well, done, Martin. He berated himself mentally for the mess he’d made of a simple introduction.

“Oh, you’re the skipper! Brilliant!” the younger one was suddenly in Martin’s personal space, dragging him upwards into a bone crushing hug that lifted him off his feet. Flashbacks of Simon making him “fly” bombarded him and he stiffened, not sure if he should yell or treat this as normal because honestly, how often did complete strangers lift you up like some sort of leprechaun?

“Well, Martin, you see before you Arthur Shappey, the steward of our little enterprise.” The older man drawled, and Martin was glad Arthur had put him down because that _voice_ just washed over him like syrup and he was suddenly keenly aware of his own body. Horror gripped him for a brief moment. “And you’ve already met Carolyn, who has seen fit to let us run the business for her today. I am First Officer Douglas Richardson. Pleasure.”

 _Pleasure._ God, wasn’t it just. Martin swallowed hard and tried to catch his stray thoughts again, finding that what was left was the vague notion of jealousy at how _comfortable_ this man was in his own skin. Martin had never felt more out of place in his life. His nerves rose up again and he wondered if he was going to be sick before he let himself slip into the timeless standby of procedure. He quickly tugged at his uniform jacket, pressing out the wrinkles Arthur had left and wishing his shoulders were a little broader to fill it out better. He noticed Douglas frowning his direction and offered him a strained smile.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. So. I suppose we ought to go over the safety procedures first thing.” Safety procedures, just what he needed. He would be back in his element, build up trust with his new colleagues, and hopefully manage to stop looking like a fool.

“Brilliant! I’ve never done that before!” the young steward exclaimed.

“Nor have I…mostly because no one ever does them.” Douglas yawned and picked up a magazine from the desk before him, leafing through it idly. Martin frowned, unsure if this was a test of his authority. Should he let it slide? If he did, was that a sign of weakness as a captain? What sort of captain are you going to be, Martin? If he let it slide it was going to bother him the rest of the day, the rest of his _life._ He needed structure, needed it now on his first day more than ever.

Drawing himself up to his full height, he forced his voice to remain firm and sure. “Well then you’re in for a treat, because we’re doing them as per regulations.”

Douglas scowled at him and he got the sinking feeling this was going to be a long day.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Martin was right about it being long day, but it turned out he hadn’t been prepared for just how long the days would be. He was fairly certain Douglas hated him, or at the very least resented him for his position. It made sense, of course. Douglas was clearly the more qualified of them, and here Martin was sitting in what should by all rights be his seat. The only reason Martin was in it was because he was working for free. Still, he _was_ working for free, and if he was going to sacrifice getting paid for this position he was going to damn well be treated like a captain.

“You’re not at Air England now. Where you are now is in the co-pilot’s seat and on the way to Bristol.” He snapped, then added, “You’ll like it. They have a lovely suspension bridge.”

“Well, shall I just sat comm Carolyn before we make our final decision? It’s rather an expensive diversion-“

“No, we have made our final decision. I have decided, and as Carolyn knows, whilst in flight, I am supreme commander of this vessel.” Martin responded, hackles raised. Why couldn’t someone treat him like a real pilot? Not even a captain, just a pilot.

“Golly. Captain Bligh flies again.” Douglas snarked back at him. Bligh? Who was Captain Bligh? Some friend of Douglas’ no doubt. Some friend who looked and sounded more like a captain than Martin. Some friend who Douglas probably treated with respect.

“Douglas, I’m not impressed by your Air England mates. When you’re on Captain Bligh’s aircraft, you can do it his way, but when you’re on mine, you do it mine. Is that understood?”

“…Yes.” Douglas finally bit out between clenched teeth.

“Yes what?”

“Yes it is.”

“Yes it is what?”

“Yes it is understood.”

“Yes it is understood what?” Martin glared right back into Douglas’ challenging gaze, daring him to try to dodge it again. It seemed Douglas had made it his mission in life to torment Martin and if that’s how it was going to be then so be it. Two could play at that game…though considering games, he did have to admit Douglas was fun when he was in a good mood. The flight deck was certainly never boring. Still, he wasn’t going to put up with being treated like this.

“Yes it is understood…please?”

“I’m waiting.” Martin crossed his arms resolutely and stared down his nose at Douglas, trying to convey how serious he was about this.

“Martin, you’re not seriously asking me to call you ‘sir’.”

“Yes I am. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Well, to select just one reason from the fifteen or sixteen that present themselves, I’m old enough to be your father.” Douglas groused.

“Not unless you started very young.” Martin retorted.

“I did.” Martin felt his cheeks heat up at the thought and quickly pulled the brakes on his brain before he could go further down that road. Unbidden images of a younger Douglas Richardson out on the prowl burrowed into his mind’s eye and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Right, well, I think your age and your previous role is giving you a rather skewed view of the chain of authority on this aircraft, and maybe a little observation of the formalities will help remind you which ones of us is still the captain. So: is that understood?” he mentally congratulated himself on pulling himself back together.

“Yes…” Douglas scowled at him and added grimly, “…Sir.”

Martin soon found himself regretting his insistence on being referred to properly. He hadn’t taken into account his unnatural reactions to Douglas’ terribly sensual voice. Even when he sneered the title with absolute derision it went straight down to Martin’s…no, he was not thinking about that. He tried to avoid speaking to Douglas for the rest of the day.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Sir means on, naturally. It was on. Whoops! Must go now, Carolyn – here comes a mountain. Cheerio!” Douglas interrupted and switched the sat comm off. Martin had never felt more backstabbed in his life. Sure, he and Douglas didn’t always get along but did the older man really have it out for him that badly? It was bad enough everyone always thought he was the captain, and that he wasn’t getting paid, and that most of the time he felt like a joke, but now Douglas was actively trying to get him fired?

“Douglas, is this some half-baked revenge attempt? Because, if so, it’s really pointless. Why would she believe I deliberately turned it on?”

“Why indeed? But I had this sort of feeling you might hope she did, what with the cat in the hold and all.” Douglas responded, and Martin felt sick. That cat was going to freeze to death, and it was all. His. Fault.

“…Oh God.” Martin choked out, feeling like he might be physically ill in a moment.

“Precisely. I did try to remind you.” Oh, God, he _had._ Here Martin was thinking the worst of Douglas and not only had he tried to remind him he’d further saved him from Carolyn for the time being. Now he felt even worse.

“Oh God. D’you think it’s dead?” Panic and horror warred within him for dominance.

“No, no. Definitely not. Not yet.” Martin was more than a little out of his depth here, and Douglas seemed content for the first time ever to let Martin make the decisions like a captain, which made it all the worse. He wasn’t ready for this, he couldn’t handle this level of responsibility…and then Douglas actually let it slip to Arthur what was going on and everything was even worse. All of them were looking to him for the answer. Arthur…Arthur looked absolutely crushed. Martin threw his hands up in defeat.

“All right. Fine. Fine! All right. It’s only a job. There’ll be other jobs.” He swallowed the burning sobs that wanted to make their way out. If he was only captain for the rest of this flight he was going to be a captain about it. Captain’s don’t cry. So he’d go back to the testing center…it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be horrifyingly destructive to his pride… “France Control, this is Golf Tango India. Request immediate diversion to nearest airfield.”

“Roger, Golf Tango India. Do you have an emergency?”

“Well…” Martin sighed heavily and slumped in his seat dejectedly. “We’ve got…”

“One moment, please, Tower.” Douglas turned the radio off and Martin lifted his eyes to him with mild curiosity.

“What is it, Douglas?” he asked on a sigh, bracing himself for the gloating.

“Captain…” Douglas said, the most sincerely he’d uttered the title yet as he smiled gently and struck a match, holding it between them. “I do believe I can smell smoke in the flight deck. Can you smell smoke in the flight deck, Captain?”

Martin shifted, sitting up again as he looked from the flickering flame to Douglas and back again, smiling back tentatively. “Yes. Yes, I can, Douglas. Could you request an immediate diversion, please?”

“Certainly, _Sir_.” Douglas replied with a teasing glint in his eye and Martin was glad he turned to the radio quickly because he missed the shiver that ran through his body in response. If he’d thought Douglas’ voice was distracting when it was used mockingly he had never been prepared for that light, teasing tone. Tearing his thoughts away, he directed his attention to the landing, for once feeling like he belonged on the flight deck.


	2. Boston and Cremona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody who came over from Deleted Scenes for being loyal readers in this increasingly novel-length venture! And a special thanks to my beta reader sungmee for her tireless help, support, ideas, and speedy feedback!
> 
> Also, a note for anyone who apparently feels inspired by this or Deleted Scenes (I am still blown away that anyone is actually inspired to make things by my stuff, wow guys!), feel free to make podfics, fanart, spinoff fanfics, whatever you want, just please please please link me to it so I can revel in it! (and credit me as the author of the original piece, ofc)

“Mr. Leeman.” Martin squared his shoulders and stood up as straight as he could, clasping his hands behind his back. _Authoritative_ , he thought to himself.

“Yyyyep.” Mr. Leeman said, barely half glancing at him as he took a drink of his whisky, his still lit cigarette held idly in his other hand. He was a stocky man that reminded Martin of Simon with his thick mustache. Unlike Simon, Mr. Leeman left the distinct impression of grease and residue that made Martin’s muscles bunch at his shoulders with distaste.

“I notice you’re no longer in the toilet cubicle, sir.” Martin wrinkled his nose as the acrid scent of smoke curled into his nasal passage. Honestly, how did anyone smoke?

“I bet the guys call you Captain Hawkeye.” Would no one ever take him seriously? _Strike terror into his heart_ , Carolyn’s voice wormed its way into his thoughts.

“Are you aware that, ten minutes ago, I was on the point of aborting the flight?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Looks wet down there.” He leaned forward over the passenger in the seat beside him to glance out the window at the ocean below. The man beside him tried to shift away and glared first at the back of his head and then at Martin.

“ _Because_ , sir, I was under the impression that the aircraft was on fire.”

“No. It was just me,” The man took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke Martin’s direction. “Smmmmokin’.” Martin resisted the urge to cough and blinked a few times as his eyes burned.

“Yes, I know.”

“Right. So you weren’t on the point of aborting anything, now were you?”

“Sir, as the commander of this vessel, I must demand-“

“Okay, that’s about enough.” Mr. Leeman interrupted. “What are you gonna do, _Commander_? Have me arrested? No. And I’ll tell you why not. Because your tinpot little one-airplane outfit needs me and my business about a zillion times more than I need you. You think you can scare me by marching down here in your Fisher Price When-I-Grow-Up-I-Wanna-Be-A-Pilot costume? Give me a break! You’re not the commander of anything! You’re a little guy who can’t get a game with the big boys and wears a uniform like a rear admiral’s to make up for the fact that he’s basically just a flying cabbie. Am I right?”

Don’t cry. _Don’t cry_. “No! No you’re _not_ right! You’re…” Horrible. A bully. _Right._ “…a _very_ rude man. You can’t speak to me like that. I’m the captain!”

“Okay, Captain,” Mr. Leeman said in mock sympathy, waving his cigarette in the direction of the flight deck. “You run along now and, er…” He took another long drag. “Try not to cry into any important equipment.”

Definitely don’t cry _now!_ “I’m not crying. Your smoke got in my eyes.” Martin resisted the urge to sniffle against the smoke and tears that were threatening to spill over and turned on his heel, making a hasty retreat, pausing in the galley to collect himself. Why hadn’t he just let Douglas handle it? Carolyn was right; Douglas would have dealt with it like a real captain.

Douglas glanced up at him when he shut the flight deck door behind him and seemed to do a double take before returning his gaze resolutely to the sky. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.” _Stop saying fine, Martin!_ “Arthur.” Douglas shot him a borderline concerned look.

“Well, anything you say five times is obviously true.”

“Yes, Skipper?” Arthur asked, fidgeting a little and making a concerted effort not to look at Martin’s face.

“Right, right.” Pull it together, Martin. “Arthur, did you see me inform Mr. Leeman about our non-smoking policy?” He stood up a little straighter to convey just how fine he was.

“Er, well, I was…” Arthur’s eyes darted around the flight deck like a spooked animal and his face started turning an alarming shade of reddish purple. “I wasn’t really looking. I mean, I certainly didn’t notice if he made you cry.” Martin tensed and Arthur swayed a little on his feet like he might fall down. “Or _not!_ I mean, he probably didn’t!”

“I was not _crying_. His smoke got in my eyes!”

“Smoke gets in your eyes…” Douglas sang under his breath, the beginnings of a grin curling at the edges of his lips.

“Shut up, Douglas!” Martin felt his eyes burn again but there was no way he was going to start crying in front of Douglas Richardson, and certainly not _because_ of Douglas Richardson. He’d never live it down. Douglas frowned at him but did, in fact, shut up. There, now Martin could think again without that superior, sarcastic, _sexy_ voice distracting him! _No, not sexy!_

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Good evening. This is Captain Crieff speaking. I’m sorry to have to tell you a passenger has been taken ill. So if there is anyone with medical training on board, could they please come to the flight deck door? Thank you.”

“Okay, we’ve moved him to the galley.” Douglas said as he returned to his seat, strapping himself back in.

“How’s he looking?” Martin asked, staring hollowly at the empty sky.

“Well, he’s covered in foam and he’s had a heart attack. Otherwise great.” Martin flinched at the use of sarcasm. It was official, Douglas must think he’s completely incompetent. Why was he stupid enough to think that plan was a good idea? Mr. Leeman had looked like a walking advert for bad cholesterol, of _course_ he was going to have a heart attack!

“I-I was just thinking…maybe we ought to turn the plane round…” Douglas’ jaw dropped half an inch and his gaze turned steely.

“Well, yes, of course, we should. Haven’t you done it yet?”

“Oh, right, right. Because, on the other hand, obviously Carolyn’s not going to like it much…”

“Martin,” Douglas said sternly, his mouth set in a grim frown. “That’s irrelevant. It’s a serious medical emergency. You ditch into the nearest airfield, and we’re – what? – twenty minutes off midway, so forty minutes closer to home. There’s no question we have to turn round, it’s the decision I imagine you have come to, _Captain._ ”

Martin cringed. Douglas was right, of course he was. When was he ever wrong? Martin nodded miserably and called up air traffic control, feeling even less like a captain than usual. The thing was…worse than the guilt, worse than the now very real possibility of losing his job, worse than all of that other stuff, the worst of it all was what Douglas must think of him. Maybe they weren’t friends, maybe they were even enemies some days, but he _admired_ Douglas. Douglas was exactly what Martin wished he was. Confident, smooth, commanding and entrancing and everything a captain ought to be. The thought that Douglas must have lost what little respect he had for him…that was the worst.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Turn the plane around.” Carolyn snapped a second time. Martin kept his arms firmly rooted on the control column. They’d already turned around, god, how many times? There was no way he was going to continue making a fool of himself. Besides, Douglas – annoyingly always right Douglas – had said several times already that this is what they should be doing. If he’d just stuck to his guns to begin with instead of listening to bloody Carolyn, Mr. Leeman might… Martin shook his head of those thoughts. The last thing he needed was to be emotionally compromised and have to hand control over to Douglas.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“No, and far more importantly, you’re not turning the plane around. Do it, now.”

“I _can’t_ turn the plane around.” Not again.

“Martin, if there is one thing you’ve proved on this trip over and over again, it’s that you can turn the plane around. Or were we just caught in a slow-motion hurricane?”

“But Mr. Leeman…”

“Is _dead_ , God rest his grumpy soul.” Carolyn interrupted, making Martin cringe. Dead because I couldn’t be authoritative enough to make him stop smoking without blasting him with a fire extinguisher, because I couldn’t land the bloody plane instead of playing ring around the roses. “So he doesn’t need an ambulance, he doesn’t need a hospital. All he needs is to be taken home to Boston.”

“Douglas…”

“You could tell her we no longer have enough fuel left to get to Boston safely.” The older man suggested, looking at the gauge.

“Yes, thank you! Carolyn-“

“But we do.” Martin shot him a glare and received a smug grin in return.

“Thank you so much.”

“Sorry, but she’s right.” The first officer shrugged. “We should go to Boston.” Carolyn made a triumphant noise behind him.

“Fine. Fine! We’ll go to Boston,” Oh, God, Shanwick… “But only if…” Martin hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Douglas talks to Shanwick.” Martin sighed unhappily.

“Douglas?”

“My pleasure.” Douglas grinned, turning the radio on as Carolyn slipped out of the flight deck, pleased at having gotten her way. “Hallo, Shanwick. Greetings once again from the merry men of Yo-yo Airways.” A groan answered him and Martin shrank in his seat, his face heating with embarrassment. Douglas, however, was completely unperturbed by the response. “Might we now make our way out of your airspace to…I dunno, Boston?” A long silence answered him. “The sooner we do, the sooner we can annoy the Americans instead.”

“Fine.” Shanwick snapped back. “But you take the scenic route going back. Return to your previously cleared track and don’t radio again unless you’re literally dropping into the ocean.” The radio fizzled out and Douglas chuckled.

“Feisty.” He nudged Martin’s arm. “Come on, now, cheer up, Martin. You don’t get fun like this at EasyJet.” Oh God, the interview.

“Do you think we’ll make it on time?” Douglas glanced at his watch but Martin zoned out as he answered, looking out at the sky stretching before them. This trip had done nothing but point out to him exactly how unqualified he was to be a captain. It didn’t help that Douglas sat next to him looking and acting so much like one without even trying…and then he acted like none of this had even phased him, like it was some game, while Martin felt like his life was going in circles making everyone around him angry.

“D’you think we’ll make it in time?” he asked again as his thoughts drifted back to that interview.

“Remember how I didn’t know three minutes ago?” Martin sighed. “No new information has come in since then.”

“Right.”

“You all right?” Douglas asked, leaning forward in his seat to try to catch a glimpse of Martin’s face, actually looking like he almost really cared if Martin was or not.

“Yeah…it’s just…you know, it hasn’t been a great trip, has it?” _You’re not the commander of anything!_ “I think possibly I made a few…” _Carolyn got to you, didn’t she?_ “Well, I didn’t exactly…” _It’s the_ wrong _decision._ “I’ve got this interview when we get back, _if_ we get back in time, which I doubt, and I just wondered if, as a captain, there’s…things…” Martin sighed heavily. It was likely he was going to get fired after all this, likely that the flight back home would be their last together. He may never get another chance to sit alone with Douglas again, and the thought made him sadder than he thought it would. Time to suck it up, Martin, and ask the question that’s been on your mind since you first met the man. “I mean, I only ask because, of course, you were a captain for a while, and I just wondered if…I mean, this is a bit difficult…but…could you give me some advice?” He looked cautiously over to the first officer, who seemed to be considering the question thoughtfully. Well, at least it seemed he wasn’t going to tease him about it.

“Well, the main thing is, you’ve got to stop asking for advice.”

“Great. Thanks.” Stupid. _Stupid._ Why did you bother asking in the first place?

“That’s okay. You can start as soon as I’ve given you mine.” Douglas said more gently than he’d ever spoken to him before. “You’re the _captain_ , Martin, and one of the many excellent things about being captain, along with the irresistible sexual magnetism and first crack at the cheese tray, is that you’re always right. So by all means take opinions, but remember: you don’t have to listen to Carolyn; you don’t have to listen to ATC; you don’t even, and savor this because I shall never say it again, you don’t even have to listen to _me_. You’re the boss. What you say, goes.”

Martin looked over at Douglas and melted into a smile. Did Douglas really have any kind of faith in him after the mess he’d made of this flight? He seemed sincere…he _was_ sincere. _You’re the captain, Martin._ He was. He _was_ the captain, for however much longer that lasted. Maybe he was going to get fired, but damn it, he was the captain right now, and he could get them home on time, and he could do that interview, and he could win Simon Say- _Oh!_

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. Okay. Thank you. But, er, Douglas?”

“What?”

“Simon _Says_ could you give me some advice.”

“Ohhh!” Douglas broke out in a wide grin. “Well done!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Shall we head out?” Martin stretched languidly in his seat, a content smile painting his face. He really did love the captain’s chair. The flight deck in general, even. Something about planes just put him in an all-around good mood. So the EasyJet interview had been a bust (they’d actually been gracious enough to reschedule it and he’d somehow, and he still wasn’t quite sure how, spent the entire time talking up _Douglas_ to them), he’d had a good week for van jobs, which meant he could pad his emergency fund and splurge on food a bit. Life was good. He made to get up.

“Hold on.” Douglas said, patting his arm to get his attention and pointing out to the portacabin. “Look.”

“Oh, God.” Martin groaned and made a face. Carolyn’s light was still on. No leisurely filling out his logbook in peace, apparently. “Do we have to?”

“I for one am happy to stay here til every light in Fitton goes out.” Douglas snorted, settling comfortably in his seat. Martin mimicked him, letting a smile slip back onto his face. It was strange, but even with all the hours they logged sat together here, he wasn’t tired of spending time with the older man. If anything, the more time they spent the more comfortable he got. This…this was a rarity. Few people stuck around long enough to wade through the social awkwardness Martin struggled with.

“Read any good books lately?” Douglas asked absently, picking at some lint on his trousers.

“Ehh…” Martin made a noncommittal noise, deciding not invite the mocking of admitting he spent his leisure time reading flight manuals. “Does Global Aviation Magazine count?” Douglas chuckled in response and shook his head. “Sorry, Douglas, I don’t do much reading. Music, though…” Driving to jobs in the van certainly gave him plenty of time with the radio. Douglas grinned and turned on the intercom, setting off the ‘bing-bong’ that signaled a cabin address. Martin tilted his head curiously.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, First Officer Douglas Richardson here. Just to let you know that ‘With a Little Help from My Friends’, I will be safely flying you ‘Across the Universe’ and we will be ‘Back in the U.S.S.R.’ before ‘Any Time at All’ has passed. So, ‘From Us to You’, we at MJN would like to say ‘Good Night’ and ‘Run for Your Life’.” Martin laughed heartily.

“Excellent! What was that, six?”

“Seven, and that was just a warm-up. Your turn.”

“Oh, er…I’m not really sure what to do…” Martin fidgeted a little. He’d never been very good at thinking on his feet.

“Okay, just…” Douglas thought for a moment. “Ah! Sing ‘I Believe I Can Fly’ cabin address style.” Martin felt his cheeks heat up at the thought of singing for an audience. It was an activity he kept strictly relegated to the shower. Not that he had a bad voice, he thought he sang rather well, but the idea of all that attention on him had never sat well with him.

“Er…”

“Oh, come on, it’s all in good fun. You have a wonderful singing voice.”

“Well, thanks, I-wait what?” Martin squawked, his face burning up with a no doubt astronomical blush. Douglas kept his features schooled in a carefully careless expression.

“We share hotel rooms on occasion, I do hear you in the shower sometimes.” Martin thought he might die from embarrassment. Douglas _heard_ him in the _shower_. Before he could further think on it, Douglas pressed the intercom. _Bing-bong._ A pointed look his direction.

“G-Good evening, this is your c-captain speaking, just to let you know that…” he took a deep breath, giving an uncertain look to Douglas, who nodded encouragingly. It _was_ only Douglas...and he’d already said he liked Martin’s voice... “I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the sky! I think about it every night and day!” He shared a smile with Douglas, who grinned back with no hint of sarcasm. “So sit back and enjoy your stay!”

“Well done!” Douglas commended him with a laugh.

“Okay,” Martin thought for a moment. “Frank Sinatra. Fly Me to the Moon.”

_Bing-bong._

“Good evening. This is First Officer Douglas Richardson. Just to let you know we’re now making our final preparations to ‘fly you to the moon’. While we’re airborne I do hope you’ll take advantage of the opportunity to ‘play among the stars’. Those of you sitting on the left-hand side of the aircraft should have an excellent view of ‘what spring is like on Jupiter’; and on the right-hand side, ‘Mars’. ‘In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me.’ Cabin doors to automatic.”

“Very good, very good.” Martin chuckled. “Okay, my turn.”

“All right. Er…do ‘Come Fly with Me’.” Martin cleared his throat and sat forward in his seat.

_Bing-bong._

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of MJN Air, I’d like to invite you to…Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away…”

“Martin, Martin what on _earth_ are you doing?” Carolyn barked over the radio, her voice like being doused with cold water.

“Carolyn! I…” was definitely not singing. “Hel…Yes, nothing.” Nothing was always safest where Carolyn was concerned.

“What’s going on in there? You’ve been on stand for half an hour. I’ve been waiting for you in the portacabin.” Martin glanced at Douglas, silently asking him how to respond.

“Yes.” Douglas said, making a face. “We _saw_ your light was on and we _thought_ you might still be there.”

“But you didn’t come in!”

“No.” Douglas smirked. “We _saw_ your light was on and we _thought_ you might still be there.”

“Well, come in _now_.” Carolyn growled. “I want to talk to you. Well, heaven knows that’s not true, but I have things to tell you.” The radio went dead and the pilots shared a sigh.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.” Douglas said, standing and stretching. Martin followed his lead, curling his arm back to work the muscles a bit before trailing out the door behind him.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Good _morning_ , madam, and welc-“ Martin cut himself off. It just didn’t sound respectful enough, did it? They were flying a movie star, for Christ sake. “No, ‘ma’am’.” He straightened up again to his full height, holding his hat under his arm and starting again. “Good _morning_ , ma’am, and welc-“ He stopped again. “No, she’s not the Queen! Um…good morning, Ms. Macauley and w-No, ‘madam’.” The portacabin door opened behind him and he stopped talking to himself abruptly, quickly patting down his untamable curls while Douglas was distracted by Arthur before the first officer could make fun of him.

“Morning, Martin. You’re looking very smart.” All the blood in his body rushed into his head and he felt a little dizzy.

“No I’m not, no more than usual, this is how I always look, what are you saying?” He said in one long breath. Douglas brows sunk down on his face and a tic worked in his jaw.

“Yes, you’re quite right, it was an unforgiveable compliment. I do apologize.” Martin’s shoulders slumped. Douglas was in a bad mood. Ugh….Did he _really_ think Martin looked good today? He perked up a little. Moments later the door opened again and a beautiful woman slipped inside, sighing behind the closed door.

“Oh, hello. MJN Air?”

“Yes! Hello!” Just like you practiced, Martin. “Er, good morning, Ms. Madam, and wel-“ Oh God, what did you just _say?!_ “Ma-Madam Macauley, Ms. Ma’am, Mmm, Ms. Macauley.” Martin would now be happy if the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

“Good! Thank you; but please, call me Hester.” She said, giving him an uncertain smile.

“Yes, the full title’s rather a mouthful, isn’t it?” Douglas smirked and Martin felt his face heat up again.

“Th-thi-thi-this is First Offi-“ You didn’t introduce _yourself_ yet, moron! “I mean, I’m…” Just say it slowly and _breath._ “Captain Martin Crieff, but this is the first officer, Douglas Richardson, the co-pilot.” Why does it feel like he’s the more important introduction? Martin forced himself not to slump in place.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Co-Pilot. Is that like being a co-star?” she asked, offering her hand to Douglas.

“I suppose it is, yes.” Douglas said as he flirtatiously delivered a kiss to her knuckles, ever the smooth-talking sky god. Stop, stop, _stop._ You are _married!_ Give me a _chance_!

“Well, not really. I mean, ‘co-star’ is equal with the other co-star, whereas the co-pilot is junior to me.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure he is, Captain Crieff.” Hester’s eyes met his and oh God what do I do?

“Oh, please, call me Madam.” _What?!_ “ _Martin!_ ” Kill me now. Martin zoned out as he mentally flogged himself for making a right mess of yet another introduction until Hester asked about Carolyn. “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Just through that door there.”

“Thank you so much, Captain…er, Martin.” She touched his arm lightly.

“Oh, you’re quite welcome…Hester.” She passed him and went into the office beyond and he watched her go with a crooked smile. An actual movie star just touched his arm. Had he imagined the intonation she gave his name?

“Oh, quite welcome, Hester. Quite, quite, quite.” Douglas snarked at him and he turned a scowl on the older man.

“Jealous!” He had the sudden urge to stick his tongue out at him, but that was childish and he was a captain…so he did it as soon as Douglas’ back was turned.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“You’re a horrible human being.” Martin huffed, changing out of his uniform with his back resolutely to Douglas. He still wasn’t sure how the man had twisted him around enough that he agreed to share the room at the Excelsior out of confusion. It was hard to think when Douglas Richardson was making a concentrated effort to muddle you up.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Martin.” Douglas said in a falsely pacifying tone, the sounds of fabric shifting behind him alerting him that the older man was also changing.

“You had me jumping through hoops all day! Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You were going to stick me in the Garibaldi while you and Arthur slunk over here.” Douglas retorted.

“You could have got me fired!” he whirled around on Douglas, who was blessedly clothed and had frozen in place at the outburst. “Did you even consider that?” He asked, stalking over into Douglas’ personal space and enjoying the uncertainty and shock he’d managed to bring out in the older man. He’d finally managed to tap into his inner ‘fiery redhead’…it was pretty satisfying if this is the reaction he was going to get out of Douglas.

“…Martin…” Douglas’ face fell into what seemed to be a genuinely remorseful look that took some of the fire out of Martin.

“Whatever.” He sighed, turning back around before pausing and chancing a look back. “You know, not everyone can count on being lucky like you. Good night.”


	3. Douz and Fitton

Martin was a control freak. Had been ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the result of the constant feeling that he lacked control when he was young, maybe it was just the way he was, but especially when he was scared he instinctively clung to whatever shreds of control he did have. So when they lost number one hydraulic system he’d had a moment of blinding white panic. He’d never had a plane actually have something break that wasn’t superficial before, and then Douglas was making a joke of it all and there was a fire truck and it all got really confusing and before he knew what he was saying he’d taken control. Horrible visions of crashing out of the sky and their remains being hosed off the runway by a fire truck filled his vision.

“Well done, Captain.” Douglas said moodily from his seat, and a wave of guilt crashed into him. He should have trusted him. Douglas joked a lot but he’d never once put them in any real danger…and now he was (understandably) angry. Martin avoided his glare by studying his shoes and trying very hard not to make any noises or movements that might set the man off. Douglas folded his arms and looked out the window on his side.

“Rained a lot recently.” Douglas finally broke the silence grudgingly a grueling twenty minutes after Carolyn had finally left and Martin breathed again. The silence had been intolerable.

“Yeah. Lot of rain…” he agreed awkwardly, thinking of the damp around the window of his attic room. He’d had to pad the sill with towels and keep a fan running to prevent mold until he had the time to borrow a caulking gun and fix the sealing around the window frame. “Still, plants can’t grow without it, I suppose.”

“Oh? You grow anything?” Douglas cast him a sideways glance.

“N-no, no, not at all…” Martin laughed nervously. “Er, do…do you?”

“When do you imagine I find time to keep living things alive?” Douglas growled irritably. Still angry then. Martin decided it was wisest not to answer that, though his thoughts immediately strayed to Douglas’ phantom daughter. It was easy to forget Douglas even had a child. He rarely mentioned his family, though his current – third, if Martin recalled correctly – wife came up in conversation on occasion. Douglas was a private man.

“Right…” He wished they could go back to the intolerable silence. Unfortunately, it seemed Douglas wasn’t in the mood for silence. They made stilting conversation for the better part of an hour. Martin had never wanted Carolyn to interrupt more. “When do you think they’ll, er, get here, d’you think?”

Douglas pulled out his phone and checked the time. “The way Carolyn drives, within the hour or never.” Martin chuckled nervously.

“So they’re officially the national cricket team?”

“Apparently…of Scotland.” A hint of a grin played on the edges of Douglas’ lips as he said it.

“I didn’t think Scots played cricket.” Then again, there was a lot about sports Martin didn’t know. His experience in the subject was limited to the embarrassing and horrible experience of compulsory physical education classes in school. He shuddered at the memory of it.

“It seems at least eleven of them do.”

“And the Scotland/Tunisia cricket match…is that a regular thing?” Martin chanced a small smile at the thought.

“A hotly-contested Hiberno-African derby, I’ve no doubt.” A beep and click sounded from somewhere to Martin’s right and a flash went off, making him jump. He whirled in his seat to find Arthur sitting on the floor fiddling with a camera to see the result of his surprise attack.

“What are you doing _now_ , Arthur?” Earlier on a trip to the loo he’d found the young man building a blanket fort in the aisle, which he was begged not to tell Carolyn about.

“Oh, nothing. You two carry on. Act natural.” Arthur dropped the camera between his crossed legs and formed a square with his thumbs and forefingers, squinting at them through it with his tongue between his teeth as though he were a director.

“Why are you taking our pictures?” Douglas asked.

“Mum’s reprinting our company brochure, and she said I could have a go at taking a picture for the cover.” Arthur smiled happily.

“Does that mean we’re losing the current one?”

“The one with Carolyn strangling a customer?” Probably a good idea to switch them out.

“I always thought that summed up MJN Air rather well.”

“She’s adjusting his pillow!” Arthur insisted, then paused before admitting, “But, yeah, it does look a bit strangle-y.” A knock came at the flight deck door and the three of them looked between one another before Arthur reached up and opened the door from his spot on the floor, revealing a local with a slightly crumpled page holding the details of their bill. They were actually trying to charge them for that fire truck!

“You know, Martin, these little airfields do rather try things on sometimes if they suspect you’re not…” Douglas’ voice trailed off and Martin felt a bolt of panic shoot down his spine.

“What? Not what?” Respectable? In charge? A real captain?

“Oh, nothing.”

“Would you like to speak to the airfield manager, sir?” Would he?

“Yes. Yes, I would.” He’s got another thing coming to him if he thinks Martin Crieff is a pushover. “I’ll show him whether or not I’m… _that_.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

They were stuck. Surrounded on all sides with no plan, no fuel, no clearance and no air conditioning. With a frustrated sigh Martin tugged at his tie to loosen it a little further, caving and undoing the top button of his shirt as beads of sweat trailed their way down his temples.

“All right, all right. Carolyn, I’ve been looking at the chart. There’s an air strip at Kebili, only about twenty miles away. If we could just get as far as there, we could refuel properly.”

“Well, that’s great. Problem solved. All we need now is enough fuel to get there, our enemy to give us take-off clearance, and for that fire truck to disappear.” Carolyn said sarcastically, using the weather report to fan herself. Muffled shouting erupted from the cabin again (what on earth are they doing in there?) and the flight deck door opened behind her, pouring a flustered looking Arthur in with the sound of bottles being thrown as a backdrop.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell them, okay…Um, the passengers have a few requests.”

“What?” Carolyn’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Um, well, more beer. They were very clear about that. Look. To make sure I remembered they wrote it on…me.” Arthur tugged his unbuttoned cuff up to reveal scrawling handwriting on his arm indeed declaring ‘beer’.

“Oh, yes, so they did.” Martin frowned and cast Arthur a sympathetic look, wondering what Douglas was doing about all of this. When he’d bowed out of their brainstorming attempts he’d assured them he was going to help Arthur control the chaos that was erupting in the cabin.

“Yeah. So…beer, definitely. Um, water, some of them are keen on, and uh, and…an umpire.”

“An _umpire?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Why do they need an um-“ Martin was cut off by the sound of _something_ hitting the wall beyond the flight deck and Martin had the sinking feeling it was a ball.

“Ah. They’ve started without.” Arthur said nervously, looking incredibly guilty for having been unsuccessful in keeping their rowdy passengers collected.

“All right…” Carolyn drew herself up into her most intimidating pose and made for the door, ready to let them have it, but Arthur jumped in her way and plastered himself against the door as though he’d forgotten to clean his room.

“Mum! Mum, you can’t go in there!”

“Why not?”

“They’re…” Arthur bit his lip. “They’re in their swimming trunks.”

“In their swimming trunks?!” Carolyn barked and Arthur sank an inch in place.

“Yes. It’s got really hot in there…and in here. I mean, it’s just hot generally. I think it’s because we’re so near the Sahara Desert.”

“Yes, all right. Very well.” Carolyn set herself into Douglas seat. “Martin, you and Doug…Where is Douglas, anyway?” As if in response, the unmistakable sound of Douglas’ participation in the cabin activities trickled through the door followed by a round of applause. Carolyn looked ready to commit murder as she turned on the intercom. “Douglas, I wish to have a little word…under the wing. _Now_.”

“But, er, mum, their swimming trunks!” Arthur tried to protest as Carolyn stomped past him and through the door.

“Arthur, believe me, it is nothing I haven’t seen before.” Arthur made a befuddled face before it transitioned into a mildly grossed out one. Martin peaked through the flight deck door after her, catching a glimpse of a whole lot of bare skin as Carolyn slipped past the galley curtain.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“All right, stop your panicking, I’m here.” Douglas groused as he strode into the flight deck. Martin did a double take as he looked up from the papers he was frowning heavily at to find Douglas entirely shirtless before him.

Sure, they’d shared hotel rooms on occasion – fairly often if he was to be completely honest – but he was always very careful not to look at, near, or in any way the direction of Douglas on the few occasions that he was in the room while Douglas changed, and they both tended to do their dressing in conjunction with a shower, so he’d never gotten an eyeful like this. Sure, Douglas was probably not as lean-cut as he’d been when he was younger – and gosh, he must have been murder when he was – but he was certainly nothing to sneeze at now. Martin felt his face heat up and hoped the blistering heat had already reddened his face enough that it wasn’t noticeable as he buried his face back into the papers.

“So, what was your plan for the fire truck, Douglas?” Carolyn asked, crossing her arms and frowning, the stress showing through in light of the hotbox the flight deck had turned into.

“Well,” Douglas began, grinning as he set into his anecdotal expression, “When I was at Air England, my first officer, George Walsh, and I were in Vancouver. No hotel openings to be found because of a sudden snowstorm and all flights were grounded. We decided a visit to the bar was in order and-“

“Douglas, does this story have an end?” Carolyn interrupted. “I’ve no need or desire to hear about your sexual misadventures.” Douglas rolled his eyes.

“Suffice it to say, we ended up with a snowplough parked behind our rental car and a great need to take off in two hours, so we lifted the vehicle and placed it in the driveway of our hosts’ annoying neighbor. No one was volunteering to help _him_ lift it back out.” Douglas laughed triumphantly at the memory and Martin couldn’t help cracking his own smile at the story. “All we have to do is lift the fire truck out of the way, we’ve more than enough manpower, and there’s our front way open.”

“Douglas, that’s…that’s a terrific idea. Will it work?” Martin felt relief slide over him like a cool shower…and God what he wouldn’t give for one, the heat was stifling.

“It worked when old G.W. and I did it with that snowplough in Vancouver; but I don’t really see how it helps us, I’m afraid. We still won’t have any fuel, and we still won’t have clearance to take off.”

“Could we go and get fuel in jerry cans and bring it back here?” Arthur chimed in, turning the now ever-present camera in his hands fretfully.

“If we had about eight years, yes.”

“We can’t steal back the fuel he took off us?”

“I’m sure he’d locked it away somewhere.” Douglas shook his head.

“Besides, it no longer meets the quality criteria.” Martin mentioned and Douglas gave him a long stare.

“Martin, that _really_ doesn’t matter. I think we can give ourselves a license to bend the rules just a tiny bit in this situation.” Still angry about the landing. The captain had had about enough of this.

“Like you need an excuse – the man who hasn’t bought a gallon of petrol since-oh…” Martin sat up a little and blinked.

“What?”

“Well, just a thought...if you can feed a rabbit on a tiny bit of cheetah food, can you feed a cheetah on lots of rabbit food?” Douglas’ eyes lit up as he caught on.

“Oh! You mean…”

“What do you think?” Martin braced himself for the inevitable problem with his idea. There was always something, and Douglas _always_ pointed it out.

“Yes! I like it!” Douglas declared.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Alright, careful not to be seen.” Douglas said in a hushed tone as the two of them scurried off the plane and into the cover (and shade) of the underside, where the vehicles on each side gave them some measure of privacy. The first officer looked from the tools at their disposal to the vehicles and then cast an assessing eye on Martin himself. “You don’t know how to do this, do you?” he asked in a tone that made Martin almost feel bad for not knowing how to steal fuel, which was ridiculous.

“Er…no…”

“Didn’t think so. Keep a lookout, then.” Douglas crouched down and straightened out the tube they’d brought with them, running the length of it through his hands until he was satisfied.

“Erm…Douglas…?” Martin sighed softly after a moment. Having Douglas mad at you made for a fairly miserable day, trapped in Tunisia or not. Douglas hummed in response as he sucked on the end of the tube, expertly managing to not get any in his mouth as it shot through the clear tubing and into the waiting container. “…I’m sorry about taking the landing off you...”

“Now is really not the time, Mar-“ Douglas started on a huff but Martin interrupted quickly.

“Yes, it is, Douglas. You have every right to be angry with me, I know,” If Douglas had taken a landing off him that he was fully capable of handling, he’d have been furious. “But…well…I don’t want you to be.” Douglas frowned a little and Martin waited for the angry and likely sarcastic retort, but then the older man sighed, his body loosening up.

“You’re forgiven.” Martin felt the tension in his shoulders relax. “Besides, you clearly needed the practice more than I do.” Leave it to Douglas to tack that on a declaration of forgiveness. Martin smiled in spite of it, just glad to be back to the good-natured jabs that usually colored their conversations.

“So, how often have you done this sort of thing, anyway?” he asked as Douglas set about sucking the gas out of the second vehicle, gesturing vaguely to their less than strictly legal activity.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, captain.” Douglas said with a smirk, stretching while the fuel drained from it. Now that the tension had cleared from the air, Martin found his eyes lingering on the exposed flesh before him, entranced by the shifting muscles and sheen of sweat. Swallowing thickly, he shifted his attention in the direction of the airfield manager’s office, pretending to focus on the task of lookout.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Do they drive on the left or the right in Tunisia?” Martin asked as they taxied onto the empty road.

“I think, when they’re driving on an empty highway through the desert in an aeroplane, they probably drive pretty much wherever they hell they like.”

“Right, right…are you ever planning on wearing a shirt again?” Douglas glanced down at his bare chest and shrugged carelessly. “Only it’s really unprofessional.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to offend the clouds as we fly by them.” Douglas said as he tugged on his shirt, doing up the minimum number of buttons and leaving it loose and untucked. “Remind me what’s professional about moving fire trucks and driving down a highway in an aeroplane?”

“Point taken…” Loud singing filtered through the flight deck door. “Why have I got the sudden urge to use the cabin address to tell them to settle down or I’ll turn this plane round?” Douglas laughed.

“Two miles to go, Martin.”

“Thank you, Douglas.”

“D’you want me to drive for a bit, darling?” The joke brought a grin to Martin’s lips and he shook his head lightly.

“No thanks, dear. You know I get car-sick in the passenger seat.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Martin sighed in frustration as a drop of water landed on his arm. Outside the rain was coming down in sheets, hammering the portacabin unyieldingly.

“Then there’s another leak over here.”

“Right-o, Martin!” Arthur chirped and raced over, placing a bowl next to his elbow to catch the drip-drip-drip before returning to his spot on the step ladder across the room, attempting to locate the source of a separate leak and cover it with gaffer tape. Martin went back to his logbook, crunching his arms in on himself to avoid knocking the new addition to the desktop. The portacabin door swung open and Douglas stepped in, shaking off his coat.

“God, the rain’s horrible outside.” He complained before he caught sight of the maze of containers the small room had become. “…and inside.”

“Douglas, you are forty-five minutes late.” Carolyn barked as she bodily blocked his way further in. Martin sank further into his logbook, pretending very hard that he wasn’t hearing the reproach. The altercation ended sooner than he’d expected, with Carolyn letting the matter drop uncharacteristically. Martin relaxed into the light banter of the crew, interrupted by the ear-wrenching sound of Arthur caterwauling a tune he couldn’t remember properly, until the light dripping Arthur had been trying to repair became a constant drizzle into the bucket below.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s now raining _inside_ the portacabin! Can we please just go into Fitton and wait in a nice coffee shop or something?” Douglas complained, prompting Martin to suggest they move to the plane. He’d spent the better part of the month revising the emergency procedures since they were on standby and he’d expected as much when they all balked at going through them with him, but what he hadn’t expected was to be _laughed_ at over them.

“Fine! Forget it. Forget it! I’ll go and sit in the flight deck and review them by myself.” He growled before stomping off through the galley and slamming the door behind him as hard as he dared. He flopped into his seat, trying to banish the memories stirred up by the exchange, the laughter of the kids at school. It shouldn’t _bother_ him so much, it was an age ago. He didn’t have long to dwell before the door opened behind him and Douglas slipped in.

“Erm, Martin?” the older man said tentatively.

“What do _you_ want?”

“Apologies, Martin. That was very childish of us.” Douglas said as he took his seat.

“Yes it ruddy well was.” Martin refused to look at him, crossing his arms and keeping his head turned away.

“Yes. Perfectly reasonable emergency procedure.” Martin shot him a glare, taking the opportunity to hunt for signs of sarcasm or an impending joke.

“Are you being funny again?”

“No!” Douglas held up his hands in surrender. “No, I mean it. The hat makes it clear to confused, frightened passengers that you are in charge. Absolutely.”

“Exactly!” Martin let himself relax into conversation with Douglas, slowly lowering his guards until they were both laughing heartily at the image of ‘Captain’ written in lipstick on his forehead. “Why do they always think _you’re_ the captain, Douglas?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Douglas said. “Cause I don’t care. Captains don’t care. I’ve been a first officer, been a captain, been a first officer again. All the same to me. So long as you’re happy, who gives a toss how many rings there are on your sleeve? Whereas you always look like you _want_ to be the captain, so people assume you can’t be one. You’ve gotta lose that look.”

“But I _have_ always wanted to be an airline captain.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ever since I was six.”

“Ah. And before that?”

“I wanted to be an aeroplane.”

“I see.” Douglas was now obviously suppressing a grin that just teased the edges of his mouth.

_\---_

_“You can’t be an aeroplane, Stupid.” Caitlyn said very matter-of-factly, peering down at him past the glasses perched on her nose. Martin halted in his circular running, arms falling to his sides forlornly. Caitlyn was eight years old, and never failed to remind him that she was older and inherently more knowledgeable._

_“Why not?” he asked, distress filtering into his tone._

_“Because,” Caitlyn replied, pausing long enough that it almost seemed like that would be the entirety of her response, “People can’t be aeroplanes.”_

_“But…” Martin trailed off, sniffling as tears welled up in his eyes. “I love aeroplanes…”_

_“Well you still can’t be one.”_

_“You can fly aeroplanes.” Martin looked up as Simon chimed in from his spot at the table doing his maths. “You could be a pilot.”_

_Martin’s eyes widened as he pictured it, imagining what it might be like to fly. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, looking up at his big brother worshipfully. “I want to be the best pilot!” he exclaimed, a wide smile overtaking his small face. Simon looked down at him and offered him a crooked smile in return._

_“Guess you’d be the Captain, then.”_

_“Yeah!” Martin agreed energetically._

_\---_

“Why – what did you want to be?” Martin asked curiously, a smile blooming across his face at the memory.

“Oh, various things at different times. I studied _medicine_ at university.”

“You wanted to be a doctor?” Martin’s mouth dropped open a fraction and he pictured Douglas in a long white labcoat, pulling on latex gloves and flirting with the nurses. It fit him remarkably well.

“Well, I wanted to be a medical student. They seemed to have the most fun. I’m not sure I ever wanted to be a _doctor_ …glamorous, but gloopy.” Arthur chose that moment to interrupt with thoroughly welcome coffee, which Martin soaked up gratefully even after the steward left to keep his mother company again, leaving the pilots to fall back into easy conversation and comfortable silence, the ebb and flow of the talking natural and loose.

“It’s my anniversary, you know.” Douglas said after a while.

“Is it?” Martin shifted his gaze from tracking the progress of raindrops down the window to his first officer, curiosity growing in him. Douglas nearly never volunteered information on his personal life, at least not like this. Anecdotes, of course, especially ones from his heyday as a captain at Air England, but his home life was shrouded in mystery. He hummed in confirmation.

“Three years today.” Three years. Martin wondered what it was like to be with someone that long. His relationships had been few in number and short in length.

“Happy anniversary, Douglas.” He said finally, offering the older man a smile.

“What about you, Martin, have you got anyone in your life at the moment?” The question took Martin completely by surprise, which it really shouldn’t have in retrospect. It took him a moment to recover enough to formulate an answer.

“Not really…” He admitted hesitantly. Truth be told it had been longer than he cared to admit since he’d even successfully chatted a girl up, and he hadn’t had a real relationship since he was twenty-three. Now he was pushing thirty-two and still no prospects. It was a depressing thought. “It’s hard to meet girls.” He sighed, then added quickly, “I mean, long-term ones that is.”

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that. There’s got to be some local place you can find that special someone.” Douglas scoffed.

“There isn’t, though. After the age of thirty, you just don’t meet anyone new. You’re on your raft with your friends, and everyone else is on their raft. Sometimes the rafts bump into each other, but there’s no raft-hopping. And I’ve managed to get on an all-boys raft.” Martin frowned and sighed. His dating prospects consisted of a handful of his sister’s friends, all of whom were married, pregnant, or very much not-his-type, and Carolyn, and Martin wasn’t touching that idea with a ten foot pole. Along the same vein, the few female students who’d inhabited Parkside Terrace over the years were far too young for him, and moreover propositioning anyone who lived in the same house as you was a bad idea. Going to an all-boys school had left him with a surplus of male acquaintances so school friends were out as well.

“Well, there’s always weddings.” Douglas said, interrupting his line of thought. “I met all three of my wives at weddings.”

“Really?!”

“Mmm, course. The third one, I met at _my_ wedding…which was a trifle awkward.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be!”

“Yeah, my second marriage wasn’t my favorite.” Martin took a moment to wrap his head around the notion of _having_ a favorite marriage.

“Which one was?”

“Oh, the current Mrs. Richardson, hands down! She’s smashing!” Douglas said enthusiastically, and Martin couldn’t help but smile. “Look: I got her this for our anniversary.”

The first officer tugged his flight bag over and unzipped one of the pouches, holding it open for Martin to see…a bottle of brown sauce. Oh. Martin could only imagine how disappointed Mrs. Richardson would be, it was _her_ anniversary and Martin felt disappointed _for_ her. Surely there must be some mistake. No one, especially not _Douglas Richardson_ got their wife brown sauce for their anniversary…but then it turned out Douglas _had_ , and there was a reason and it was…bloody romantic. Martin sighed miserably after Douglas slipped out to ask Carolyn about permission to have a drink. Being alone was so bloody _hard_. He’d thought that nearly ten years of solitude had numbed him to the sensation, but now he ached to have someone to fetch brown sauce from across the globe for, or indeed someone who would go to that much trouble to bring _him_ brown sauce. Douglas had no idea just how lucky he was.

“So, what is it exactly that’s so special about…I don’t even know her name.” He murmured finally when Douglas returned.

“Helena.” Martin hummed lightly and Douglas ran a hand through his hair in thought. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, she’s clever and funny and kind and beautiful and so on and et cetera – you know, the standard specs. But, I think if I’m honest, what it really comes down to is, she thinks I’m terrific.”

“Does she?”

“Yup. The bee’s pajamas, the cat’s knees. _Really_ terrific.” Martin pulled a face at the thought. Not at someone thinking Douglas was terrific, he…well, he honestly was…but the idea that that was what made for a happy marriage, what held two people together in love, what made two people share brown sauce.

“And that’s enough to make you happy together, is it – your shared belief in the terrificness of you?” he asked morosely.

“It’s not a bad start.”

“But does it make you happy? Truly happy?”

“Oh, well, come on. No one’s _truly_ happy.” Douglas said at last.

“ _I’m_ truly happy!” Arthur chirped as he came in, interrupting what may have been the most real conversation the two pilots had ever had. Three glasses of wine and two short flights later, Martin found himself standing in front of Douglas door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the door to be answered. When it did swing open, Douglas stood before him, still in his uniform and looking for all the world like the sky god he claimed to be.

“Oh. Martin!” He exclaimed, an awkwardness settling in almost immediately, his body language closed.

“Hello, Douglas.” Suddenly this seemed like a terrible idea…Martin bit his lip and scuffed his shoe on the ground. Douglas barely ever _spoke_ about his home life, why the hell did he think it was a good idea for him to _intrude_ on it, and on the man’s _anniversary_ of all days! Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He’d clearly overstepped his bounds by showing up.

“What are you doing here?” Douglas asked, reminding Martin why he’d stopped by to begin with and giving him something to do with his hands. He pulled the bottle of brown sauce out of his rucksack, holding it out as a peace offering.

“I just stopped by to give you this. You left it on the plane.”

“Oh! Right. Yes. Er, thank you.” Douglas said, taking it carefully.

“You’re welcome.” Martin said, shoving his hands in his pockets and half wishing he hadn’t bothered. “Just thought I’d stop by on my way home. I mean, I’m not really on my way, actually,” Try a good half hour out of his way…ugh, petrol… “But to save your anniversary, I thought…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“I know, and I-I do appreciate it. I really do.” A long pause, during which they stared at one another uncomfortably and Martin’s brain short-circuited, refusing to provide him with a decent Segway to exit on. “Well, I won’t keep you.”

“Oh.” Martin breathed again in relief, “Okay. Well, I’ll see you next…” Martin froze, his eyes catching on the crisp lines of the epaulettes decorating Douglas’ arms. No… “Douglas. Your epaulettes!”

“What?” Douglas had also frozen now.

“They’ve grown an extra bar.” No, no, no. Douglas seemed to come out of whatever had frozen him and looked down at his arms, feigning surprise.

“Oh, look at that! How silly of me! I must have put on my old Air England ones by mistake.”

“When?” Martin asked without hesitation, eyes boring into Douglas now.

“When?” Douglas echoed.

“ _When?_ ” Martin asked again.

“Well, when I got dressed.”

“Douglas, you were not wearing captain’s epaulettes during the flight! I would have noticed, believe me.”

“Yes, you _would_ , wouldn’t you?” Douglas scowled.

“Which means you must have-“ Martin went quiet as a feminine voice called from somewhere within and suddenly he was meeting the mysterious Helena Richardson. She was exactly what Martin had expected. Model height, blonde hair cascading down slim shoulders, toned and sleek and downright gorgeous.

“Hello.” Martin said dumbly, then added, “I’m Martin.”

“Well, thanks for that, Martin. I’ll see you-“ Douglas started to close the door but Helena blocked it, pushing forward.

“Martin! Oh, from MJN.”

“That’s right, darling.” Douglas said, and Martin stuck on the terminology for a moment. Darling. Douglas called his wife _darling_. It was such a change from calling Arthur all manner of forms of the word ‘idiot’ he had trouble reconciling the two at first. It was…really sweet, actually. “Martin, this is my wonderful wife Helena. Helena, this is my…trusted and valued first officer, Martin Crieff.” Martin paused thoughtfully for a moment, taking in everything. His wife, his pleading hazel eyes… _darling._ He didn’t have it in him to disrupt that. He nodded slowly, more to himself than to Douglas.

“Pleased to meet you.” He murmured back to Helena finally before begging out of her invitation to come inside. Maybe Douglas wasn’t quite as lucky as he’d always thought.


	4. Helsinki and Gdansk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for this highly late chapter! This work is not forgotten or dead, just super late due to life. Hopefully life will GTFO so I can write more regularly. We shall see. In the meantime, here's Helsinki and Gdansk! Un-beta'd.

It rather amazed Martin how easily one could pretend away a situation through sheer force of will. One would think there would be awkwardness after their run in at Douglas’ house, but Martin found that they had somehow wordlessly agreed to live in denial about it. He’d lain in his bed that evening and pondered the moment, turning it over in his head and found that it…didn’t really bother him. He wasn’t sure why, normally he’d be boiling angry at Douglas usurping his role, but he was content to let the water run under the bridge. Douglas, for his part, had acted rather determinedly normal, and so Martin hadn’t brought it up and they’d carried on as normal.

Well, normal unto a point. The point when Martin opened the flight deck door to find it adorned with flowers.

“Oh!” Martin said as his eyes darted uncertainly around the space, noting how Douglas froze ever so briefly before carrying on with his task, which seemed to be finding every available space out of eyesight to tuck the flora without crushing them. “Hello Douglas. Good lord!”

“Ah. Morning, Martin.” Douglas said with practiced normality. “I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”

“Evidently not!”

“Have you picked up the weather?”

“Er, yes.” Martin glanced down at the weather report in his hand. “North Sea turbulence; clear skies at Helsinki.”

“Oh, jolly good.” A beat of silence, and Martin shifted his weight, cocking one hip to rest his hand on and returning Douglas’ innocent expression with an unimpressed look.

“Douglas, I can’t help but notice you’ve filled the flight deck with orchids.”

“Yes. Yes, I _have_ done that. Yes.” The first officer responded, apparently coming to the decision to leave it at that. Martin rolled his eyes, knowing this game. There was no being subtle when it came to asking what the man was up to, he liked playing hard to get with information.

“Are you about to propose to me?”

“It pains me to break your heart, Martin, but no. These are for another man…a Finnish customs officer named Milo, to be exact.” Douglas said with a sly grin.

“And what does he have that I don’t have?” Martin asked, drawing himself up and struggling not to grin back as he feigned offense.

“Fish cakes.” And with that Martin failed to keep up the act, a laugh cracking through.

“Really?!”

“Also salmon, turbot and langoustine.”

“Oh, Douglas, you’re not smuggling again?” Martin made a face and really he probably ought to object more to his copilot’s extra-curricular activities, but he’d found that it behooved him to choose his battles when it came to Douglas. So if some orchids or fish cakes came and went, well, at least Douglas was occupied with something other than replacing his coffee with decaf.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Unfortunately, it seemed that while Douglas’ wife believing he was the captain was water under the bridge, Martin would never live down being beaten up by a child. Douglas spent the next two weeks using every available opportunity to remind him of the incident, which certainly didn’t help the healing process of his bruised ribs…or his bruised ego. So Martin was hardly going to let it fly by when he finally saw his chance to one-up him.

“If I’m such a loser, how come _I’m_ the one with four stripes on my arm?”

“Ah, there you have me.” Douglas said in a patronizing tone, his smirk lending no credibility to his words.

“Well, I _am_ , and that’s when I’m at work, mind you, not just round the house to impress my wife.” The transformation of Douglas’ expression from cool and superior to furious and red threw Martin completely off guard in the next moment.

“How _dare_ you bring that up?” Douglas all but growled, and Martin averted his gaze as shame coursed through him. “I revealed something _deeply_ personal and private to you in a moment of vulnerability and you use it as a cheap shot.”

“I’m _really_ sorry, Douglas. I didn’t mean to-“ Martin started, the habit of apologizing rearing its head before he caught up with himself and stopped. “No, wait a minute, that’s not what happened. You didn’t reveal _anything_ to me. I caught you out by accident after you’d done everything you could to hide it.”

“Nevertheless…”

“No, there’s no ‘nevertheless’.” Martin interrupted. “That makes it fair game. How’s it any different from all the things you constantly tease _me_ about, like my height, or the number of goes I took to get my CPL, or the time I landed with the brakes on?” _Or Kieran beating me up._ Martin added mentally, not prepared to bring it up himself and risk giving Douglas an opening to crack more jokes about it.

“They’re all funny.”

“Well, it’s funny you pretending to your wife you’re a captain. It doesn’t stop it being funny just because it’s about _you._ ”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“It does.”

“Doesn’t!”

“The only funny thing here, besides your ridiculous hat, is your inability to win at anything…even a fight with a child.”

“That’s it!” Martin snapped, grip tightening on the control column. “I bet you…I bet…er…oh! I bet I can go longer without blinking!”

Douglas blinked at him. “So now we’ve gone back to primary school then, have we?”

“Scared you’ll lose?”

“Terrified.” Douglas said with dry sarcasm. “Fine, I bet you the Roquefort I can go longer without blinking if you bet on something a little less childish.”

“Oh? What?”

“Which passenger can get to the loo first. The seatbelt sign is still on.”

“You’re on.”

“Alright, staring contest starting…now!” Their eyes met, dazzling hazel against stormy seas, and for the first time ever, held. Martin felt his breath slipping away as he got the chance to really study Douglas’ eyes, and he realized too late that this had been a terrible idea. The attraction that first reared its head in Douz, or even more accurately, his first day on the job, came crashing back into him and his eyes slipped unconsciously from the almost golden rays in the first officer’s eyes to his lips. And then Douglas shifted his weight, the moment was broken and Martin ripped his gaze away, turning back to the sky and blinking several times, hoping Douglas hadn’t noticed.

“Well…” Douglas said, clearing his throat and looking out the window. “As long as we’re doing bets eight year olds do, I bet I can hold my breath longest.”

“Sure…er, squidgy one in the foil?” Martin hastily wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers and took a few deep breaths in and out under the guise of preparation, grateful that if Douglas was aware of anything he was willing to let it pass unnoted.

“Three…two…one.” They each took a deep breath and Martin concentrated hard on not thinking about how embarrassed he was. He tried instead to count the seconds and remember what his best time had been in swimming lessons.

“Golf Tango India, contact Maastricht on frequency one-two-six decimal five.” Douglas smirked and Martin shot him what he hoped was a glare but was more likely a panicked look. “Golf Tango India, this is Amsterdam, do you read me?” Martin swallowed a squeak as he gave in and took in several deep gasps before responding. He shot Douglas a glare in response to the smug grin that was directed his way.

“Oh, bad luck, Captain.”

“Look, that doesn’t count. I was answering ATC.”

“Sorry, Martin. The bet was just who could hold their breath longest. So that’s the Brie, Roquefort and the squidgy one in the foil packet to me.” Douglas said, scooting them over to his side of the tray as he spoke. “Just the Emmental and the crackers still in play.”

The door opened behind them and Martin glanced back to see Arthur slipping in with a mug in each hand, steam curling up from both enticingly.

“Coffee, gents?” Arthur asked as he handed off the beverages. “And, uh, message from Mum: have you forgotten to turn the seatbelt signs off, you pair of-“ Arthur paused abruptly and redirected, “Have you forgotten to turn the seatbelt signs off?”

“No, no, not _forgotten_ , no.” Douglas said with a sly grin, and their latest bet was set into motion. Martin sighed and slumped in his seat a little as he watched the Emmental slide to the other side of the tray, then directed his gaze out the window to spare himself the sight of the forlorn crackers awaiting him.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“No.”

“Really? You’d rather pay me three months’ salary?”

“Yes, I would. In fact, I’ll give it to you now.” Martin took a deep breath and interrupted Douglas before he could protest further. “Nothing plus nothing is nothing. Add another nothing and that’s…a grand total of bugger-all.”

“What are you talking about?” Douglas frowned on him and Martin levelled the strongest gaze he possessed at him.

“I don’t _have_ a salary.” He sighed and averted his gaze. “Look, when I had my interview with Carolyn, it wasn’t to be captain, it was to be first officer, and by the end I…I could see I wasn’t gonna get it. So I said – last ditch try – I said I’d work for half of whatever she gave the last guy, and this funny light came into her eyes and she said, ‘A third,’ and I said, ‘No,’ and there were some pretty heavy negotiations and…we agreed on a quarter, only then when I was leaving she said, ‘How little would you take to be captain?’ and after some more…negotiation…we decided I would be captain and…she wouldn’t pay me at all.” Martin took another deep bracing breath. “My salary is nothing. And three times nothing is nothing. So…so, so! I’ve tricked you! Ha! Yeah! Now _you’re_ the loser!”

“Yes. The point of that story certainly is that _I’m_ the loser. Bad luck, Martin.” Douglas said, though something in his demeanor had shifted considerably. Some tenseness seemed to have leaked from his muscles and the hint of bitterness in his tone had disappeared. Martin frowned at his feet. Douglas was right, there was no question who was the loser here.

“Why can’t I ever win something…ever? Being someone who doesn’t win _often_ , I could take that.”

“Well, obviously I can’t help you with that, but, changing the subject entirely, are you feeling quite well?”

“Yeah, just miserable.”

“Cause you look rather poorly.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“I don’t know, Martin, you’re looking very pale…positively _snow white_.” Douglas said, giving Martin a pointed look that he didn’t know what to make of.

“…What?”

“I was wondering if you had that nasty bug that’s going around…the one with the _seven symptoms_.”

“I…might have that, yes. I’ve, uh, I’ve definitely got some of them.” He tugged the paper he’d been using out from his other side and unfolded it, poising his pencil over it.

“I thought so. For instance, you might have been feeling rather…lethargic?” _Sleepy._

“Yes, I’ve got that one – that symptom.”

“Right. Lethargic, perhaps, to the point of feeling groggy, slow-witted, as if drugged?” _Dopey._

“Yes, I’ve got that too.” Martin chuckled, putting a checkmark next to it.

“Then there’s the mood swings. One minute you’re euphoric, the next you’re oddly irritable.” _Happy and Grumpy._

“Yes, both of them. That’s four.”

“Right. Er, there are physical symptoms too, inflammation of the nasal passages leading to bouts of-“ _Sneezy!_

“Yeah, got him!” Douglas frowned and Martin amended, “ _That_.”

“And, of course, that can make you feel self-conscious.” _Huh?_

“What?”

“Shy.” _Oh, Bashful!_

“Oh! Yeah, got that one.”

“Right. So my advice to you is that you seek out a health care professional.” Martin huffed and glared.

“Douglas, if you’re just tormenting me-“

“No, Martin, _listen_. If you have those six symptoms, I strongly recommend you seek out a medic.”

“Just tell me!”

“I _can’t_ tell you, Martin. I promised, Scout’s honor. The person who _can_ tell you is a G.P! A quack! A sawbones!”

“What?!” Frustration coursed through Martin’s veins.

“Someone who can tell you, in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, ‘What’s up?’”

“Ohhhh!” Martin quickly scribbled Doc down and hit the cabin address. _Bing-bong_. “This is Captain Crieff with an urgent message for the cabin crew. Sleepy, Dopey, Happy, Grumpy, Sneezy, Bashful, Doc. Thank you!”

“Well done, Captain.” Douglas said.

“Thank you, Douglas.” Martin grinned, straightening in his seat. “Ready to land her?”

“Certainly.”


	5. Ipswich

“Are you alright, Martin?”

“Sorry, what?” Martin shook his head to clear it a little and blinked at Molly, who stared back for a moment and then burst out laughing, her ponytail swinging back and forth.

“You were muttering to yourself.”

“Oh. Sorry…” Martin trailed off and then let out a small huff of breath when she continued to stare questioningly at him, awaiting an explanation. “I-I-I’m fine, it’s just…I’ve got an exam today.”

“Isn’t that our line?” Andy laughed as he swung into the kitchen, grabbing a packet of crisps from the cupboard. Molly put a cup of tea before him and he accepted it with a small murmur of thanks, sipping it carefully.

“I don’t feel prepared at all.” Martin sighed before catching sight of the time. “And I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tea.” He stood and stacked his study material neatly aside, bringing only the topmost booklet with him for the drive. He was almost out the door when Molly caught his arm.

“Cheer up, Martin, you’ll be just fine.” She pecked a kiss on his cheek and placed a banana in his hand. “Banana is supposed to increase concentration.” Martin could feel his face heat up but resisted the urge to touch his cheek.

“Good luck, mate!” Andy called from the kitchen just before the door slid shut behind him.

The drive was a long and stressful one. Whenever Martin wasn’t in fear for his life from Carolyn’s driving habits, he was anxiously trying to remember hundreds of facts.

“How d’you know all this stuff, Martin?” Douglas asked, tapping his fingers against the door in boredom.

“It is my duty to be familiar with the safety equipment of the aircraft I command.” Martin responded haughtily, too embarrassed to admit he’d spent the past several days eating, sleeping, and breathing manuals and study guides. He didn’t need to give Douglas any more ammunition to take the piss out of.

“Goodness! Harken the mighty woof of the alpha dog.”

“What?” Carolyn raised a brow at Douglas and Martin tightened his grip on the car handle as her eyes stayed off the road a beat too long.

“Arthur was telling us about that documentary. Martin is laboring under the delusion that he is the alpha dog in this organization.” Douglas explained.

“Ah-ha! Whereas you, of course, correctly reminded him that _I_ am.”

“You have the loudest _bark,_ certainly, but I like to think _I’m_ the one who brings down the hartebeest.”

“Douglas, you give me a question.” Arthur interrupted, apparently as unwilling as Martin to endure another hour of argument between the two. The first half of the journey had been one very long debate over who was the better driver.

“Oh, I don’t know any of this stuff.”

“Then how do you think you’re gonna pass the exam?” Martin frowned.

“Luck.” Douglas responded, as if it was the natural method.

“You can’t rely on luck!” Martin barked.

“ _You_ can’t rely on luck.” Douglas retorted, turning in his seat.

“Skip, you give me one.” Arthur interrupted as the tension in the air rose yet again. It seemed that while they were perfectly fine all stuck together in an aeroplane, the confines of Carolyn’s car was not conducive to peace.

“Oh, all right. At what number of passengers does it become compulsory to carry at least one flight attendant?”

“Well, we _always_ carry at least one, so therefore…no passengers?” Arthur guessed.

“No. Nineteen.”

“Oh, right. It depends, though.”

“Er, no. No. It doesn’t depend. The answer is nineteen.” Martin corrected.

“Yeah, but if it’s somewhere nice, Mum’ll come; or if the passengers are important. _Or_ if she’s bored.”

“Yes, but if you _say_ any of that, you’ll fail, whereas if you say ‘nineteen’, you won’t fail. Do you understand that? Nineteen. Nineteen passengers, one cabin crew. Nineteen.”

“Nineteen.” Douglas repeated.

“Nineteen.” Martin said one last time for good measure. They’d found that the best way to teach Arthur, besides getting him books with interesting facts and lots of pictures, was repetition.

“Will you all please stop saying ‘nineteen’?” Carolyn snapped.

“ _I_ didn’t say ‘nineteen’.” Arthur offered with a pleased smile.

“That is exactly the problem!” Martin huffed in frustration and threw his free hand in the air, washing his hands of the matter.

“That’s it, no more revising, it’s doing no one any good!” Carolyn barked.

“I don’t know about tha-“ Douglas started what was no doubt going to be a sarcastic quip but was interrupted by Carolyn slamming the brakes roughly and pitching him forward into the dash.

“Oops, looks like we’re here, so sorry we didn’t get to hear your load of balderdash, Douglas.” Carolyn said with a smug smirk before stepping out of the car.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“What are you doing?” Martin asked as he hesitated beside his intended seat at the front of the large conference room, calling back to where Douglas had already sat twenty-five steps behind him at the very back of the impossibly large room, his feet propped up on the back of the seat before him and fingers tapping against the tiny half-desk that made up one arm of the seat.

“What are _you_ doing?” Douglas responded with a conniving smirk. Martin narrowed his eyes suspiciously before slowly lowering himself into his seat, eyes still on Douglas.

“Sitting…” he replied slowly, certain that this was some sort of trick.

“As am I.”

“But you’re at the back.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Okay.” Martin turned forward and settled his notepad on his own half-desk, tapping his pen against it a few times and willing himself not to turn again while also half-expecting a paper ball to hit the back of his head. Douglas was exactly the sort. When no attack came after two minutes, he whirled around and pursed his lips as he tried to deduce what Douglas could _possibly_ be planning back there. The man was innocently inspecting his nails for dirt. _Too_ innocently. Martin turned back around and waited. Any second now…

Nothing happened.

“ _Must_ you sit at the back, Douglas?” Martin finally called, leaning back in his seat and tipping his head back to peer upside down at him.

“I _always_ sit at the back.”

“But there’s only two of us in a lecture theatre with five hundred seats.” Martin pointed out as though Douglas had somehow not noticed the lack of arses in said seats.

“ _Some_ of which are at the back.” Douglas said stubbornly, seeming to take great pleasure in Martin’s discomfort. Before Martin could respond and tell Douglas exactly how immature he was to insist on sitting back there, the door opened and they were joined by Dr. Duncan.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Are you alright, Martin?” Martin looked up sharply from his plate and met eyes with Douglas, who raised a curious brow at him.

“You look a little peaky.” He said by way of explanation.

“Oh. Fine.” Martin said, dragging his fork through his hardly-touched quiche. Douglas cocked his head a little but said nothing and Martin sighed and admitted, “Just…a little light-headed.”

“You weren’t kidding about that inner ear thing, were you?” Douglas said softly, his gaze sharpening a little and Martin had the sudden feeling he was being given a medical exam. He could swear he saw Douglas checking his pupil dilation.

“It’s perfectly fine, _I_ am perfectly fine. It’s just stress. We’ve got the exam next. I’m rubbish at exams.” Martin felt sick to his stomach again and pushed his quiche back a few inches.

“Martin,” Douglas began, waiting until he looked up to continue, “You _know_ this stuff. You know you know it, I know you know it, _Carolyn_ knows you know it. You’ll do fine. Now eat your quiche before Arthur does.”

Inexplicably, Martin felt the gloom of anxiety shift. He’d never understand the effect Douglas had on him. How he could somehow lift him up or cut him down so easily. He let a small smile curl over his lips and took up his fork again.

[][][][][][][][][][]

The whistle sounded and they were off, pulling on their smoke hoods and scrambling for the fuselage as chaotically as ever. At Mr. Sargent’s command, Martin caught hold of the back of Carolyn’s belt, allowing that anchor point to pull him forward through the thick darkness that roiled around them. Without sight to guide him, he groped out blindly with his free hand, touching the seats and feeling for any sign of the dummy. Martin concentrated on breathing deeply, counting out the seconds in his head. As the minutes dragged on, he swallowed thickly, the sick feeling that had roiled in his stomach in the pool coming back with a vengeance.

_Calm down, you’re fine, you’re just working yourself up._

Except he wasn’t fine, he felt like the world was shifting around him. Were the edges of his vision darkening or was that just the smoke?

“Are you sure you haven’t found anything?” Carolyn’s voice called from ahead of him, and he wasn’t sure if she sounded so far away because the hood muffled her or if it was his own drifting consciousness.

“No!” Arthur responded, and Martin shook his head a little to clear it because he could have sworn it came from behind him.

“Hasn’t anyone?” Carolyn called through the fog of white noise that had gone from a light buzz to a blaring siren in his head.

“No. But I am…erm…I-I’m a bit, er…” Martin struggled to pick the words out of his own head, his mouth felt alien to him and he was sure he was slurring his words now. He tried to make out the words of the voices trying to cut through the roar in his head but nothing came of it. Black curled along the edge of his vision before he felt himself pitch sideways and let himself be swallowed.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Martin drifted through a sea of confusion. Snippets of conversation blurred with dreams and this never-ending sense of movement. Vaguely it reminded him of how badly he’d wanted a water bed when he was a kid. The idea of sleeping on the waves had been so appealing at the time, now he just wanted everything to be still and let him get his bearings straight. He could hardly tell which direction was which as he slipped through half-formed dreams until suddenly he was blinking and the light was so bright and then there was Douglas and his hazel eyes and Martin had the disconcerting feeling that he’d been kissing him in his dream and- _Woah! That_ made him sit up!

He winced as his head throbbed from the sudden jolt of motion and his hand pressed back to the wall, the only solid thing within reach. At least he felt grounded now, though he could do without the headache. He pressed his free hand against his eyes, rubbing them lightly.

“What…what happened?” he squinted up at Douglas.

“When we couldn’t find Adrian the dummy in the fuselage, you decided to volunteer to be the dummy, ironically as a result of Arthur being a dummy…he had hold of your belt.”

The moment of clarity came with Arthur hard on its heels as the steward gave him a jaunty greeting and a paper cup of water. He murmured his thanks and sipped it, suddenly aware of just how dry his throat was.

“Martin.” The captain’s eyes swung up to his employers at the sound of his name and he grimaced.

“Carolyn, I am so _so_ sorry.” Martin began, but Carolyn’s frown made him stop his diatribe of apology.

“Are you feeling faint?” she asked.

“No…”

“Dizzy?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“A little…”

“Sweaty?”

“What?! No!” Martin cried in embarrassment.

“Well,” Carolyn paused for a long moment as if she wanted to say something. “Good.” She said at last. Martin finished his water, his thoughts turning back to the _real_ pressing matter.

“…What about the test?” He said at last, frowning down at the empty paper cup.

“When you are feeling up to it, we will all join Dr. Duncan and Mr. Sargent in the conference room, together.” Carolyn said, maintaining iron control of her tone. Martin crushed the paper cup in his hand, stood with only the slightest wobble, adjusted his uniform, and nodded to Carolyn, who led the way. As they passed through the door Douglas silently handed him his hat, and together MJN faced the uncertain future.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“I brought you some towels.” Martin called before entering the locker room where only hours ago he and Arthur had been dripping messes, but which now contained one very soaked first officer. Martin couldn’t help himself when his eyes landed on the figure Douglas cut; they seemed to have a mind of their own. He followed the path of his first officer’s hands as they made their way down his shirt, working off the buttons one by one and revealing pale skin beneath. They lingered briefly on his belt and seemed to delay a beat too long and _oh god_ , that’s when Martin realized he was staring with his jaw about a quarter of an inch too slack.

His gaze tracked quickly back up until they met Douglas’s and he felt his face heat up. He quickly thrust the towels out before him, holding them as far from his body as he could as he concentrated on counting the floor tiles. What was _wrong_ with him? This wasn’t the first time he’d bloody _stared_ at Douglas like that and Martin was beginning to fear it was becoming a habit.

_Not good, not good, this is_ so _not good! He’s your colleague, your subordinate and what’s more, one of the few people on this earth you can consider a friend! After all, if you can’t call the man who pulled you out of a smoke-filled fuselage your friend, who can you?_

It was only then Martin realized he still hadn’t thanked Douglas for that, and it flew out before he could think.

“Thanks…”

“Thanks?” Douglas repeated, questioning.

“For carrying me out of the smoke-filled fuselage. I just…” _Just what?_ “Thanks.” Martin repeated, stuffing his hands into his pockets now that they were free of towels.

“Any time, captain.” Douglas responded, and Martin smiled a little even as he kept his eyes trained on the ground.

“I’ll just…er…leave you to it, then…” he said awkwardly, backing out of the locker room as best he could and making a hasty retreat.


	6. Johannesburg

Martin sighed in content as he dropped his bag next to the bed and plopped down, tugging his tie loose.

“You can say that again.” Douglas agreed with the general sentiment as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Fancy going out on the town for a bite?”

“No, thanks,” Martin smiled and stretched before pulling his shoes off. “I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll just have a bit of a lie-in tonight.”

“Mmm, me too.” Douglas agreed, heading for the loo. Martin used the few moments of privacy to shuck his uniform, replacing it with comfortable sleeping pants and a Red Arrows t-shirt. Douglas was just returning in his own sleep attire as Martin was pulling his new issue of Aviation Week out of his flight bag.

“Lord, it’s a sickness.” Douglas muttered under his breath when he caught sight of the cover and Martin stuck his tongue out childishly before returning to the article he’d started, a grin tugging at his lips. Douglas settled on his own bed and pulled out a Sudoku book and a comfortable silence descended upon them.

It lasted all of ten minutes before the theme from Psycho rang out across the room, causing Martin to jump and Douglas to groan and reach for his mobile.

“Yes, Carolyn?” he grumbled as he answered.

“Oh, god…” Martin groaned himself. “Whatever it is, tell her no.”

“No.” Douglas said with a suddenly stern note to his voice, sitting up a little straighter, and Martin blinked curiously. “Carolyn, no, we can’t. Not tomorrow...It’s my daughter’s birthday.” Martin’s eyebrows rose and he ducked his head down into his magazine when his side of the conversation, and likely the other side as well, rose in volume.

It was at least a half hour before Douglas finally slammed the phone down on the bedside table and sank onto the bed in defeat. Martin looked between his first officer and the magazine, unsure whether talking to Douglas was a good decision right now. When Douglas shifted around, Martin opened his mouth and hesitated. He started several different lines of thought, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue but refusing to form.

What did one say in this situation? ‘I’m sorry’ seemed cheap and meaningless, complaining about Carolyn would only be putting fuel on the fire, and Martin was terrible at diffusing tension with humor.

“It’s, um…it’s nice…” Martin finally stammered out, “You wanting to be there for her…”

_Way to sound stupid, Martin._

Martin ducked his head back into his magazine quickly, concentrating hard on not looking to his right whilst bracing himself for a scathing sarcastic remark. It had been the only thing he could think to say, his brain having detoured into memories of his own birthday parties. While his father had been present for a fair majority of them, he hadn’t always seemed like he _wanted_ to be. Or rather, he often made it clear that while he was there, his mind was elsewhere.

“I already told her I’d be there.” Douglas murmured in uncharacteristic defeat, and Martin dog-eared his place in the magazine and turned to face his first officer, propping himself up on an elbow.

“How old is she?” Douglas flopped back onto his mattress and shifted around to get comfortable.

“She’s turning ten.” He responded on a sigh.

“Good age…” the captain responded, shifting onto his back and folding his hands together, biting his lower lip a little as he realized how moronic he sounded. Was there such thing as a _bad_ age?

“Mmm, yes, soon she’ll be old enough to resent me, what fun.” Came the snarky response without hesitation, and Martin sat up again on his elbows.

“Douglas…”

“Oh, never mind, Martin, I’m tired is all. You know how ‘discussions’ with Carolyn are.” Douglas said with a dismissive wave of his hand, but something in his tone put Martin on edge.

“What if…I mean…isn’t there anything we could do?” Martin wracked his brain for a plan but came up with a blank. He couldn’t make the flight tomorrow by himself. If there was just some way to let Douglas’ daughter know he was there in spirit, at least it would be better than nothing. Not for the first time, Martin wished he were like Douglas. Lord knows the man had an unholy knack for outrageous plans. “To sort of, let her know you’re there but also not there?” He growled in frustration and fell back again. “Never mind, I know, I’m not making any sense.”

“It’s a nice thought, Martin, thank you, but I don’t suppo-“ Douglas stopped mid-thought and the bed creaked as he sat up, his tone lifting. “Actually, why couldn’t we?”

Martin blinked and sat up as well, tilting his head.

“Why couldn’t we…what?”

“Why couldn’t we be there but not there? We have a plane and all day to make the trip to Paris, we haven’t filed a flight plan yet, it’s perfect!”

_He’s mad!_

“You want to…fly past her party?” Surely he had this wrong.

“Why not? It wouldn’t take but a moment and we could drop a little something, something light like sweets, the kids would love it!”

Martin’s jaw dropped about an inch and he was sure the look he was giving his first officer was one reserved for people who’d grown a second head. Douglas seriously wanted to fly over his daughter’s birthday party and drop candy. GERTI was far from an airdrop class aeroplane, the only way to do something like that would be to put it in the airbrake cavity and then open the brakes in the air while flying at a low altitude and…well, come to think of it, it wouldn’t be an _illegal_ altitude, and…

_Alright, now you’re_ both _mad!_

Still…

“I suppose we could…” Martin frowned at himself for even allowing this train of thought but pressed on regardless. “I mean, the weight shouldn’t be too much of an imposition…just a moment.” He snatched the notepad and pen from the table between the two beds and jotted down the numbers as they ran through his head. Altitude, velocity, weight, timing…when he did finally look up from his calculations, Douglas was looking at him very oddly. “Er…it…it’s feasible…” Then Douglas did something Martin hadn’t seen him do in quite some time…he laughed. Not a tame chuckle or a teasing snicker but a genuine, full-bodied laugh. Martin couldn’t help but join in.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Here’s food, chaps!” Arthur called cheerily as he placed a plate in each of their hands.

“Thank you, Arthur.” Martin nodded to him and regarded the dish before him with the mild apprehension he always held when the in-flight meal wasn’t professional catering. Still, it smelled divine and Martin found his mouth watering in anticipation. Douglas was already digging into his own with enthusiasm, and so Martin shrugged to himself and took a bite. Flavors burst on his tongue and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him.

“This…is excellent Douglas!” he exclaimed, not really caring that he was talking with his mouth partially full. This was the sort of food he might treat himself to on his birthday. Suddenly he was feeling much more optimistic about their bargain with Carolyn. “Did you really cook it yourself?”

“I did indeed.” Douglas responded.

“Mmm! It’s lovely!”

“I’m very good at cooking.” Douglas said with a smug grin, and Martin couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Is there anything you’re _not_ very good at?” Only the sound of his chewing filled the silence. “Douglas?”

“I’m thinking. There are things I haven’t _tried_ yet. I suppose it’s possible I’m not very good at some of those – theoretically.” Martin debated arguing with that for only a moment before deciding he was in too good a mood with this meal for it to be worth it.

“Well, this is great. Unusual flavor – what is it?”

“Carp.” Martin’s jaw dropped.

“But…not…”

“When I pay a thousand pounds for a fish, I don’t just throw it in the bin. Now then, when we get to Jo’burg, obviously we can save a lot on hotels.” Martin held in a snort at that. Carolyn always put them in the worst dives. To save on that they’d have to sleep in a gutter.

“How?”

“By not staying in one.”

“So where will we sleep?” He hadn’t meant that they _should_ sleep in a gutter!

“Well, I’m a happily married man, so I shall sleep in the plane, but you, m’lad, have four hours in hand to get yourself invited to the Johannesburgian bedroom of your choice.”

Oh. _Oh!_

Martin swallowed hard and tried to will away the blush he was sure was rising up his neck, laughing with painful awkwardness. It had been some time since he’d tried to chat a girl up. Every time he did, he ended up putting his foot in his mouth and that was the end of that. Sighing softly, he muttered, “Yes, I’ll sleep in the plane, too.”

“That uniform’s wasted on you, it really is.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So…what now, Skip?”

“I don’t know!” Martin snapped, pulling his hat off and gripping it tightly as he wracked his brain for an answer. A horn went off behind them, which Martin figured was pretty par for the course when it came to his luck.

“Er, Skip – chap behind us wants to come through.”

“Yeah, I can _see_ that!”

“Oh, okay.” Arthur nodded a little. “It’s just, because you weren’t doing anything, I thought you hadn’t seen.”

Martin swallowed the panic that was starting to rise. This is exactly when Douglas always swooped in. He’d make some good-natured jab at Martin’s ineptitude, tell him to just relax and not get his knickers in a twist, and then do something incredibly simple that made it all work out neatly.

“Umm, I still don’t really know what we’re waiting for.” Arthur cut into his thoughts, looking at him expectantly.

“I’m waiting for...” Martin took a deep breath and let the truth out in a rush, “I’m waiting for _Douglas_ to say something sarcastic and then sort it out.”

“Oh, right.” Arthur nodded, then looked thoughtful and scrunched his face. “Of course, Douglas isn’t here, Skip.”

“I _know_ that!”

“I mean, I can try and fill in, but I don’t know how good I’ll be.” Arthur offered, and Martin gave a frustrated sigh in response. If only he could just calm down and _think_ like Douglas-

“Er, I’m _glad_ we’re stuck under this bridge.” Arthur said in an affected baritone.

“Shush, please. Just-“

“That’s a _good_ thing…”

“Stop it! You’re not helping.” A thought struck him. “If it comes to that, what are _you_ waiting for?”

“You to tell me what to do, Skip.” Arthur said as though it were obvious.

“I _don’t know_!” The horn honked again behind them, followed by some shouting in Spanish that Martin was sure didn’t mean ‘Pardon me, looks like you’re in a spot of trouble, how can I help?’ “I mean…all I can think of is, um…” Oh, God, he had to come up with _something._ Douglas was counting on him. What would _Douglas_ do in this situation? It would be something ridiculously simple. It always was. Douglas had a way of looking at things from a different angle than Martin would ever think to. Too high up? Let’s just lower down a few inch-oh! There’s a thought. “i-i-is, I suppose we could-we could let the tires down.”

“Oh, right – and pretend we’ve got a puncture.”

“No, to lower our height a couple of inches.”

“Yes, brilliant! Well-well let’s do _that_!” Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Yes, but what have I got wrong?”

“Oh, have you got something wrong?”

“I _always_ get something wrong, and if Douglas were here, he’d point out what.” Martin chewed on his lower lip fretfully.

“Well, he’s _not_. So…shall we just try it and see?” Arthur looked at him expectantly and Martin took a deep breath and tugged his hat back on.

“Right. Yes.” Arthur brightened considerably, taking his cues from Martin’s regained composure, and the two of them set to work, ignoring another stream of Spanish from behind. The air dropped them down just enough to squeeze through and they were on their way again, with only a brief stop at the nearest petrol station to pump the tires back up.

“Brilliant!” Arthur proclaimed as they picked up enough speed to get a light breeze ruffling through his hair. “Where was I, Skip?”

“What? In…Spain…?” Martin asked uncertainly. While he’d grown fairly accustomed to the strange track Arthur’s mind took, he still got stumped at times when the steward didn’t give some sort of lead into his questions.

“In the meadow. I suppose I could just start over.”

“Oh! I believe you’d just finished three men.”

“Thanks, Skip! You’re especially brilliant today!” Arthur chirped merrily and Martin smiled warmly at the sentiment. “Four men went to mow, went to mow a meadow! Four men, three men, two men, one man and his dog…” Arthur paused and looked at him with an expectant grin and a twinkle in his eye.

“Woof, woof.” Martin responded tentatively and Arthur bounced in his seat approvingly.

“Went to mow a meadow! Next verse, same as the first! C’mon, Skip!” Martin chuckled and joined in with Arthur as he dove into the next verse.

“Five men went to mow, went to mow a meadow! Five men, four men, three men, two men, one man and his dog – Woof! Woof! – went to mow a meadow!” They sang in tandem, and this time Martin participated in the bark with more enthusiasm. After all, he _had_ saved the day. He did pause, however, when Arthur used “Ouah” for a dog noise in the next verse.

“That’s what French dogs say, Skip.” Arthur explained with that same surety he gave all his ‘facts’. “I thought I’d do one in French ‘cause we’re abroad.”

“But we’re in Spain.”

“I know, but I don’t know what Spanish dogs say. Do you?”

“No, no, I don’t know what…Spanish…dogs…say…” Martin responded haltingly, as Douglas’ voice drifted through his mind with all manner of witticisms.

“What’s the matter?”

“Sorry, same thing again. I just automatically waited for Douglas to say something sarcastic.”

“Yes, he’d have had one in there, wouldn’t he?” Arthur laughed lightly. Before they could ruminate on what Douglas’ scathing response would have been, they were at the airport. As they walked for the engineer’s office, Martin reached into his front pocket, hesitating briefly before pulling out his new shades. He’d been _dying_ to wear them at the airfield since he’d finally given in to the urge and bought them on Sunday, but he just _knew_ Douglas was going to have some choice words to say about them. Did he really need to give the man more ammunition to tease him with? But with Arthur…

“Wow! Skip! Are those new? They’re brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, echoing Martin’s own feelings about them precisely.

“Oh, d’you like them?” Martin asked with a smile, barely containing his own childish desire to bounce around like Arthur did on a daily basis from sheer glee. “Picked them up at the garage. They’re called aviator shades.”

“They’re amazing! You look like one of those guys in Top Gear!”

“God, _do_ I? Which one?” Martin made a face. “Not Clarkson?”

“No, Tom Cruise.” _Oh!_

“Top _Gun_ , Arthur.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Ah, I’ve always wanted a pair of these.” Martin sighed happily, thinking back to his childhood, watching the fictional pilots on telly with their bomber jackets and shades, their shiny silver wings pinned onto scarves. Even if it was just a romanticized idea, he couldn’t help but want to be that stereotype.

“Well, why didn’t you get one?” Arthur asked with a curious tilt of his head.

“I suppose I thought Douglas would probably be a-“ Martin stopped himself before he finished that thought. Arthur was grown but he still often came across as younger and brought out Martin’s habit of avoiding calling people things like arseholes or prats in front of him. “Well, pretty funny about them.”

“Oh yeah.” Arthur said, his smile lowering a bit. “Yes, he-he will be, won’t he?”

“Yeah, I’ll take them off quickly before we get back.”

“Yeah. Probably best.” Arthur agreed. “You know, Douglas is _great_ , obviously,” the steward said hesitantly, “I mean, he’s brilliant…but this is quite nice, isn’t it? Like a little holiday.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Martin smiled back at his companion. Still, as much as he was enjoying the little break, part of him rather missed the dry sarcasm and light teasing.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“What a day, hm?” Douglas mused as he arranged his pillow more to his liking.

“Yeah…I really am sorry, Douglas.” Martin sighed miserably as he tucked himself into the sheets on his side. Douglas chuckled lightly.

“It seems Crieff bad fortune outweighs even Richardson luck. Not a bother. I did get us into this, after all. I’ll pay your share of the bet.”

“No, no, I can handle my end. We were in it together.” Martin insisted. He wasn’t sure why he needed this to be a partnership. It certainly wasn’t his pride keeping him from accepting Douglas’ offer. It _had_ been Douglas’ doing.

“If you’re sure.” Douglas shrugged and turned out the light. Martin stared up at the ceiling for a while, definitely _not_ thinking about how he was going to make up for the loss of funds. He’d just have to dip into his emergency fund. It wasn’t something he liked to do. If the van broke down, that was his safety net. He sighed softly.

“Douglas?” No response came. He must have fallen asleep. “It was a lot of fun, all this. Like…like real friends.” Martin shifted to his side, away from his first officer, curling up and half-hugging his pillow.

“We are real friends. Good night, Martin.” Douglas whispered behind him, and some unidentifiable feeling gripped him in a chokehold for a moment. Only it wasn’t unidentifiable, was it? He knew exactly what it was, had felt it before.

“Good night, Douglas.” He swallowed hard and counted the seconds, focusing on Douglas’ breathing until it finally evened out and he could throw off the blankets and slip into the loo. He gripped the edges of the sink with both hands, his breaths starting to come in short gasps as the panic that had started in bed rolled over him in waves.


	7. Panic Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning! This chapter involves Martin having a panic attack and the use of homophobic slurs. If such content upsets you, please wait for the next chapter.

“Knock, knoooock!” Martin jumped and fumbled before dropping the magazine in his hands at the sing-song voice accompanied by a light rapping at his door, turning to find the girl it belonged to already swinging her way into his room. She was tall in her four inch heels that she somehow managed to walk in even in her clearly inebriated state, her hair done up in one of those messy-on-purpose styles.

“You’re Simon’s brother…Martin, right?” She squinted slightly at him and pursed her lips discerningly, drawing attention to her dark lipstick and thick makeup.

“Er…” Martin’s eyes darted between her and the magazine now crumpled on the floor in panic. Her gaze followed his and she burst out laughing, drawing closer to pick it up.

“My, my…” she flipped through a few pages idly.

“It’s…it’s not mine…” Martin offered weakly, cursing his awful luck. The thing was, it really _wasn’t_ his. It was Simon’s. He’d snuck into his brother’s room and nicked it while everyone was busy with the party downstairs. He’d only wanted to know what all the fuss was about! Everyone else in his year was…interested in that sort of thing.

“Don’t worry bout it. S’normal.” She responded with a light smile, tossing the magazine with its scantily clad women aside and taking a seat beside him on the bed. Was it normal to not really see the point in it, though? Martin wasn’t so sure. A hand landed on his thigh, four rings glinting in the light of his lamp as she leaned closer to him. “You’re kind of cute, them ginger curls and all.”

“O-oh…” Martin replied nervously, then breathed in relief when his door was swung open further, the moment interrupted by one of Simon’s mates.

“Oi, Linda, there you are. Lend me a few quid, will you?” the older boy stepped close with his hand out expectantly.

“Yeah, whatever, go buy a rubber, cheapskate.” She pulled a fiver from her cleavage but instead of placing it in his palm, hooked a ringed finger through his belt loop and drew him closer, slipping the bill in the waistband of his pants. Martin’s eyes followed the transaction, the bared skin between shirt and trousers, the hint of muscles leading into a v. His fascinated gaze locked onto the peppering of hair trailing down…

“Oh my god!” Everything happened so fast, then, he could barely keep up. The weight of the hand on his thigh jerked away. Eyes caked with too much mascara narrowed and red lipstick lips turned down in disgust. “Simon’s brother is queer!”

“What?” Simon’s friend took a few steps back as though Martin had some sort of communicable disease. Martin felt all the color drain from his face as he looked down at the erection tenting his trousers, then back up into disdainful expressions.

“No, I…I…I…” Mortification. Complete and total mortification.

“That is so _wrong_ , mate…” the boy said, pulling a face and taking another step backwards towards the door, clearly uncomfortable. A handful of curious gazes were now crowded around the doorway, drawn by the noise, and through them Simon pushed his way.

“What in bloody hell is going on?” he demanded, eyes shifting between the three of them.

“You’re brother’s a fucking queer!” Linda shouted, and a wave of murmurs followed from the doorway.

“Fuck you, my brother’s no poof!” Simon dismissed her without hesitation, quick to Martin’s defense.

“I know a fairy when I see one, Si.” She snarked back at him, swinging her hips as she pushed past. “I’m not staying in no house with one of _that sort_.”

“Yeah, like I want a slag like you here, anyway!” Simon yelled after her. “Anyone else has a problem with my kid brother you can leave right now, too.”

“You’re sure he’s not…?” his friend asked quietly, giving Martin a skeptical glance.

“Course not, Nathan, use your bloody eyes!” Simon snatched the forgotten magazine from the floor and waved it in front of him.

“Sorry, mate.” Nathan held up his hands in surrender and left the room, the rest of the onlookers dispersing with him now that the drama was over.

Martin felt like crawling into a hole and dying. He honestly felt like he might be physically ill in a moment.

“Hey.” Simon said, but Martin kept his eyes trained on the floor and just concentrated on willing his still-present erection to _go away_ already. The magazine landed on the bed next to him. “You can keep this, but stay out of my room.” A hand ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it, it’s normal.”

Every night that week Martin dreamed of sturdy masculine bodies, muscles and sweat and heat and skin against skin. It’s normal…right?

[][][][][][][][][][]

Martin’s breathing was coming in short, rapid gasps now, his head beginning to feel light from the oxygen. The room was way too small, its grungy, vomit-colored tiles closing in on him. He could feel the generations of grime from the sink on his fingers, skittering up his arms and making his skin crawl. His breathing, his own _heartbeat_ sounded like GERTI’s engines to his ears.

_Too much, too much. Have to get out of here. Can’t let Douglas see. Need to calm down._

Clamping a hand over his mouth and nose, he jerked out of the loo and through the door to the hallway. He needed to get away, get far away from Douglas, but his legs refused to move further than the few steps out the door he’d gotten. He felt like he’d taken off and then realized GERTI wasn’t around him, holding him up. Now he wasn’t sure if he was falling or flying. He was at once standing still and being rushed through an overload of sensory information with no sense of context.

“Skip! Skip, are you alright?” It took him more than a moment to realize Arthur was beside him, levered under his arm to help hold him upright as he swayed, his vision spotty. He opened his mouth to respond but only a strangled whimper came out. Arthur’s concerned look grew.

“Er…here, come on, Skip, this way!” He half-carried, half-dragged the captain into his room, right across the hall. They’d almost made it to the bed when Martin sucked in a deep breath and then began to dry heave. Arthur settled him on the bed, then disappeared briefly to the loo, returning with a wet washcloth. He pressed it full to the ginger’s forehead before dabbing at his temples, all the while smiling gently.

“Follow along with me, Martin. Hee-hee…hoo! Hee-hee…hoo!” He breathed in and out slow breaths, setting up a pace that Martin picked up with little concentration. It was several minutes before he stopped and sighed out a deep breath.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

“No problem, Skip.”

“I…suppose you’re wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

“Why I was going mental in the hallway.”

“Oh.” Arthur blinked and shrugged. “Not really.”

“How did you know what to do?” Martin asked, thanking whatever luck had smiled upon him that Arthur hadn’t brought Carolyn or Douglas into that situation.

“Oh, Mum used to do it for me.”

“Oh…” Martin shuffled awkwardly, then noticed the time shining in red block numbers from the alarm clock. “What are you even doing up at this hour?”

“Oh! I was going to the vending machine for a snack. I thought they might have jelly babies…they don’t. Turns out they don’t take pence either. Probably because we're in Spain.” Arthur said, then perked up. “But I _did_ see a stain on the wall that looks like William Harrison.”

“Who is William Harrison?”

“He taught that course I took in Ipswich.” Martin smiled fondly and patted Arthur’s arm.

“Why don’t I grab my wallet and see if I have a few euros for the vending machine?”


	8. Limerick and Qikiqtarjuaq

“So – how’s Helena?” Martin asked when the boredom got to lethal levels. They’d already gone through all the _good_ small talk subjects.

“What do you mean? What are you getting at?” Douglas responded defensively. Martin paused, taken aback, and gave Douglas a cautious stare to gauge his reaction when he spoke.

“I’m…asking after the health of your wife.”

“Oh yes? As preparation for a crack about her thinking…what she thinks?” the first officer frowned.

“No – as a way of finding out how she is.” Martin said, shooting him a concerned look. When had their run in on his anniversary come back into play? He thought they’d put it behind them on the Gdansk trip. Had he been unknowingly on the wrong end of a grudge all this time?

“She’s fine.” Douglas snapped. Martin sat back a little.

“Good…Why are you suddenly so…?”

“I’m not suddenly anything.” Douglas responded with finality before deflecting, “Anyway, how’s your…?” he trailed off leadingly.

“My what?”

“I don’t know. There must be someone by now, no?” Martin swallowed down the anxiety that started to creep up his throat at the subject and huffed out a breath, shoulders dropping.

“No. Still no.”

“Oh Martin! You’re a young single airline captain. How difficult can it be?” Douglas chided him.

“Really, really difficult.”

“Well, what about cabin crew?” Martin felt his heart rate increase minutely.

“Mmm, well, for two very different reasons, I’m afraid neither Arthur nor Carolyn quite float my boat.” The first officer, on the other hand...

_He’s married._

“Not our cabin crew – everybody else’s. All those gorgeous stewardesses down route.”

_But I don’t WANT them, I want…exactly what I can’t have. Married, Martin._

“Actually, I think the whole ‘hosties are easy’ thing is a bit of a sexist male fantasy.”

“No it’s not.”

“Oh, right. You pull stewardesses all the time, then, do you?” Martin rolled his eyes.

“Certainly not, I’m a happily married man.” Douglas responded, and though that had been the mantra Martin had taken to repeating in his head whenever unwanted feelings cropped up, it still stung to hear them from the source.

“Yes, right,” Martin said, still trying to recover himself, “But you have done.”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”

“Well that’s not true for a start. I can imagine a thousand stewardesses.”

_And I currently AM and I didn’t think it would make me so jealous._

“And your point is…?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“You know, for what it’s worth, I think you should give one of those dating sites a go. You can always make up a hobby.” Douglas said, pulling Martin out of his fantasy of fighter jets. He sat back and stared out the window.

“Yeah, but even if I did meet someone, where would I take them? They’d expect an airline captain to be able to wine and dine them, and I’m always broke because…well, you know why.”

“You don’t have to tell them you’re an airline captain…” Douglas started, but stopped when he saw the look Martin was giving him. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A long pause. Douglas pulled a face before hesitantly asking, “Does Carolyn really not pay you anything?”

Here it went. Martin had been dreading this and was honestly surprised it hadn’t come up in conversation sooner. His hands were suddenly VERY interesting.

“No, nothing.”

Another pause.

“So, how do you get by?”

“I have another job that I fit in around the trips.”

“Yes?”

Martin sighed and pulled his hat from atop his head, fiddling with the gold braid. The sight of it bolstered him ever so slightly, a visual reminder that he wasn’t just his paying job. He _was_ a captain.

“I…am…a man.” He admitted, struggling through the words.

“Yes, all right, Martin. You’re not in an Arthur Miller play.”

“Let me finish!” He glanced at Douglas to convey his seriousness. “I am a man…with a van.”

“Ah.” Martin couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad reaction, so he pushed forward.

“People call me up and I go round in my van and move their stuff for them.” Unable to stand it anymore, Martin looked at Douglas, trying to gauge his reaction. Douglas gave him a tentative smile that said he was trying to be supportive. Martin wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“I see. Where did you get a van?”

“When my dad died, he left me his van.” Martin tensed.

“That’s nice…isn’t it?”

“Well, he didn’t leave me any money.” Martin blurted, realizing even as he said it how horrible it sounded. “I mean, I didn’t want his money but he didn’t leave me _any_. Simon and Caitlin got five grand each, but I didn’t…”

He took a deep breath as he struggled to reign in his emotions, but it _hurt_. It hurt that his dad lost faith in him, it hurt that he put him in that same box everyone else did, it hurt that he knew – _knew_ – that if he ever voiced this to his family they’d call him selfish. But it _wasn’t_ selfish. It wasn’t selfish to want his dad to have believed in his dream. It wasn’t selfish to wish he’d been valued as much as his siblings. And now that he was saying it all out loud, he didn’t seem able to stop. “And it’s…it’s not your fault, but it doesn’t help that I sit next to you with your perfect life and your happy marriage and your salary and the…”

_The way you make me feel._

“Well, frankly, in any figures at all, it doesn’t help.” Martin took a shaky breath, feeling as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders with the admission.

“Not a perfect life, perhaps.” Douglas said quietly, and Martin looked up at him in bewilderment. “After all, I’m sitting next to you.”

“Oh, thank you!” he exclaimed, trying not to take Douglas’ joking taunt to heart and failing. “Thank you for those few kind words of sympathy!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I’m not at Air England anymore. I’m here.” Douglas said. “And, you know some things about my life. You know about Helena thinking I’m the captain.”

“Yes. Why did you tell her that?”

“I didn’t tell her. She just assumed I was. People tend to do that. Don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Yes, I have!”

“And I just failed to correct her.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I really think you ought to tell her.” Martin offered as he sat back in his seat. “I mean, she loves you. She’s not gonna care, you know, whether you’re a captain or not.”

“Yes. I have told her now, actually.” Douglas said, and Martin looked at him, trying to read his expression. It didn’t look like a _good_ expression.

“Oh, right!”

“Yes. Quite soon after you came over that day.” Douglas was avoiding his gaze, staring out the window resolutely.

“Right. And how did she take it?” Martin held his breath as he awaited the answer.

“Really well…very well. You were quite right. She didn’t mind at all. Not at all. She was glad I told her.”

Martin breathed again.

“Right! Great! Oh, that’s wonderful! God…I thought from the way you were saying it, she’d hit the roof.” He gave his first officer a small smile meant to diffuse the tension of unknown origin, but Douglas continued to look away.

“No.”

“Good!” Martin was starting to grow concerned. Douglas wasn’t _acting_ like it was good.

“Very calm.”

“And…wasn’t I right? Don’t you feel it’s a huge weight off your back?”

Douglas took a deep breath and Martin braced himself.

“Yes and no.”

“And no?” Martin frowned in confusion.

“What she actually said was, she was pleased I’d told her my secret because it made it easier for her to tell me hers.”

“Oh.” Martin tried to swallow the sick feeling in his gut at the look on Douglas’ face.

“Hers was the more conventional sort. If I had to criticize, I must say it lacked the verve and originality of mine. I mean, ‘Darling, I’ve been lying to you about the precise rank I hold in a small charter airline’ – I flatter myself that’s not a confession often made. ‘Darling, I’ve been having an affair with my Tai Chi teacher’ – bit more run of the mill.”

“Oh.” How had he missed this? How had he missed Douglas suffering through something like _that_? What kind of friend was he?

“I mean, fair enough: points for Tai Chi teacher rather than tennis coach or dancing instructor, but basically familiar territory.”

“Oh.” Martin repeated himself a third time, feeling sick to his stomach that he’d been so blind. And moreover, been a party to causing it. He was the one who dropped into their home life unannounced, he was the reason Douglas had confessed his secret. “I’m so sorry. Oh, God, if only I hadn’t come round that night.”

Douglas must _hate_ him.

“Oh, no, don’t be silly. You didn’t tell her, after all.” Douglas said dismissively. “No, I…I don’t blame you. I blame the Chinese.”

“What for?” Martin couldn’t help the grin that started to form on his face at the idea of someone being angry at the Chinese.

“Tai Chi.”

“I think that was the Japanese.”

“I bet you a fiver it was the Chinese.”

“You’re on!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Martin?”

The captain looked over at his first officer curiously, taking another bite of his sandwich. It was a bit stale but still immensely more appealing than the admiral’s pie.

“Could I hire you and your van? We’re going to sell the house, so I’ll be moving out soon.”

Martin tensed at the mention of his actual job, giving Douglas a calculating look.

“And you’re not just saying this out of pity?”

“I think the last thing either of us wants is pity, and I’m sure that’s all I’ll get out of my brother if I ask him to help out.”

“Just let me know when.” Martin smiled and took another bite of his sandwich before a thought hit him and he started to choke, coughing heartily before gasping in much needed air. Douglas was moving out. Douglas. Was. Moving. Out. That meant…did that mean what he thought it did? There was not enough oxygen in the flight deck for this train of thought.

“You alright?” Douglas asked, raising a curious brow.

“Yeah!” Martin squeaked out, his voice reaching a falsetto. “Fine. It’s just…you’re moving out.”

“Yeeessss…” Douglas responded slowly, “That _is_ what I said.”

“No, I know, I mean…actually I don’t know what I mean, nevermind.”

Douglas shrugged. “It took me a while to get used to the idea, too. Single again.”

 _Single_.

No other word could have short-circuited Martin’s brain so fast.

_I’m going to need a new mantra._

[][][][][][][][][][]

Martin lingered outside Douglas’ door for a good twenty minutes before he worked up the courage to knock. The door swung open with only a few seconds delay and Douglas shifted out of the way for him to come through. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to get the blood flowing for warmth. It had been snowing most of the beginning of the week, but now it was mostly down to slush. Still, bloody freezing, though.

“Morning, Douglas.”

Douglas grunted in response as he put on his own coat and gloves, then led the way to the living room, pointing out what needed to go. Between the two of them they managed to pack nearly everything in the space of two hours.

“Hold on before the last few boxes, Martin.” Douglas called as he wandered off to another part of the house. “I’m just going to whip up a little something to warm us up.”

Martin pulled his gloves off while he waited, blowing warm puffs of breath onto his palms and rubbing them together.

“Oh!” A familiar female voice sounded from behind him and he turned quickly. Helena stood in the doorway, just having come in from the cold herself, it seemed. She was as beautiful as he remembered her being. More so, in fact. He couldn’t help but hate her for looking like she was all the better off for the divorce, when Douglas was struggling.

“Hello.” He said tightly.

“Hello…I didn’t realize you’d be here, captain.” She responded, her voice taking on a softer note as she floated into the room with weightless grace, her high heeled boots barely tapping on the wooden floor. She was suddenly _very_ close to him.

“Yes, well. Just helping.” Martin swallowed hard, trying to will away the sudden anger he felt towards her, for being the cause of so much pain, for thinking she could do better than Douglas, for making it so much harder to deny his own feelings, for being _way too close_ to him.

“How very sweet of you.” Helena purred and touched his elbow and for a moment he saw white because this _could not_ be happening. Before he could really react, he noticed the figure in the doorway and took his chance at escape with relief.

“Ah! Douglas!” He stepped past Helena, resisting the childish urge to bump past her in favor of sidestepping her entirely, joining his first officer and taking one of the mugs he was holding. Douglas’ eyes were locked on Helena.

“Oh, Douglas…I was just getting reacquainted with the captain…” Helena said, the picture of innocence.

“Really?” Douglas said coldly. “I thought you were doing a lovely impression of _your mother_ , sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and isn’t wanted.”

His soon-to-be ex-wife went through a myriad of emotions before tears welled up in her eyes and she stormed past them. Martin winced when the door slammed in her wake. Before either of them could say anything the door swung open again as she had her final say, then slammed the door again. This time Martin’s flinch was in response to the words. How could someone want to hurt another person like that? The silence that filled the house was so absolute you could have heard a pin drop.

“Martin, would you help me get the couch out of your van so I can burn it?” Douglas asked, sounding tired. Martin frowned with worry but nodded. Douglas would be alright. He’d done this all before, he could handle this…right?

[][][][][][][][][][]

“…Martin?”

“Don’t…d-don’t…” Martin interrupted, his voice quaking and his grip tightening on the steering column before him. He tried to will away the shivers that were racking his shoulders. Tried to will his heart to slow to a normal pace again. Tried to will away the tears that were ready to spring forward at any moment.

He’d never been so terrified in his life. Douglas had very nearly killed them all. Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget the look on Douglas’ face in that moment. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be on the ground. He wanted to not have to force all his focus on flying the plane, but there was no one else to take control.

“I’m sorry…” Douglas breathed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, I’m sorry…”

Martin glanced at him, concern worming its way to the surface over the fear and frustration and the myriad of other emotions battling for dominance. He looked…he looked awful.

“That…it wasn’t about the fight, was it?” Martin sighed, already knowing the answer. If he were being completely honest, he should take some responsibility for today as well. The incident may not have been his failing as a captain but it was certainly his failing as a friend. His failing to notice how deep down the rabbit hole Douglas had gone. “You scared me to death, Douglas. What would you have done if…if I hadn’t…” Martin couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, flashing back again to the terrifying moment he’d jerked on Douglas’ arm, trying to bring him back without sending them into the ground. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“Not really…”

Martin swallowed hard.

“Will you…will you promise to tell me if you start to…get that bad again?”

He looked over at his first officer and caught the small nod of response. His muscles relaxed slightly and he breathed out in relief.

“…Just so you know, you are professional, Martin. Absolutely.” Douglas said after he’d pulled himself together a little more. “And I know you want everyone to think so and tell you so, but just remember you don’t need them do. You are regardless.”

“Thank you, Douglas…” Martin said, smiling a little. “Pre-landing checklist?”

“Of course, captain.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Well. That’s a very lovely speech. Very moving.” Nancy said with an unimpressed look.

“Hm. Thank you.”

“D’you know what would have made it even better? If you’d given it without a lemon taped to the top of your hat.”

Martin’s jaw dropped an inch and his hands flew to the top of his head, feeling the unmistakable form of a lemon. His mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain shuttering through reactions.

“I – he – that,” He stopped and started, “ _Lemon_.”

“…Right. I really don’t care. Have a…day.” Nancy said snidely before turning on her heel and stalking away.

Martin turned and stepped jerkily back into the flight deck, where Douglas was looking sheepish.

“Lemon.” Martin said again, dumbfounded. How? _How had he DONE this?!_

“ _Lemon!_ ” he repeated.

Douglas pursed his lips as he clearly tried to hold back his laughter. Martin gave a helpless, high pitched huff of a laugh, caught between exasperation and amusement and bloody disbelief.

“Lemon…” He said one last time. “Douglas, how the bloody hell did you manage that?”

“I…might have hidden the lemon before you officially agreed to play…” Douglas said, and before he knew it they were both laughing at the sheer ludicrousness of the situation.


	9. Newcastle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I suck for taking so long. All I can say is...life. It's a thing and it happens. Things have calmed down and I should be able to update regularly again now. Thanks for sticking it out with me!

“Martin, hold on a moment.”

 

“Sorry...was I going too fast?” Martin froze when soft palms pressed against his chest, then retreated into his own space, anxiously racking his brain for what he’d done wrong. He was almost always going too fast. His hands pressed against his trousers, wiping away the evidence of the nervous sweat that was breaking out. 

 

Jennifer shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. There was a kind of disappointed sadness in her expression, but she took her time, her fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt one by one before she patted down his shoulders, pressing out the wrinkles with her fingers.

 

“I wanted to talk about the future.” She said at last.

 

“The future?” Martin echoed, his brows furrowing.

 

“ _ Our _ future.” Jennifer amended.

 

“Oh.” Martin shifted, turning further away on the bed. They’d been together for nearly three years now and Martin was about to age out of the cadets. Of  _ course _ that was on her mind. “Well, I-I know I’m leaving the cadets soon, and I’ll be busy working towards my license, but I’m not...that is...I mean...I’m not  _ going _ anywhere. I thought we’d just...carry on like we have been?”

 

Tears welled up in her brown eyes and she gave him a sniffling smile even as she looked like she was about to start sobbing and his heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest. Panic seized him and he pulled her close, hugging her tight.

 

“Please don’t cry, Jenn...I didn’t mean to upset you. Did you...did you want more? We could-”

 

“Stop, Martin.” Jennifer interrupted, tears now actively making trails down her cheeks as she pushed him back to arm’s length. “Please don’t say any more. Just...just listen now.”

 

Martin swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and waited for her to collect herself and continue, the silence clenching around him making it hard to breath.

 

“Martin, you’re...you’re  _ different _ .” Jennifer took a deep, cleansing breath. “And it’s okay...it’s fine, I’ll be fine...I love you and I want you to be happy, really happy...and it’s not going to happen with me. Just...promise me one thing. Don’t do this to another girl. Don’t make her love you. Don’t let her realize that she can never be what you need. Don’t...don’t break her heart.”

 

[][][][][][][][][][]

 

“I think you relaxed  _ because _ I said no, and I think you’re probably right about that.” Linda offered him a well-meaning smile and patted his arm. The tension left Martin’s body in a rush and he let his shoulders drop.

 

“ _ Why? _ ” he finally said, looking at the ground. It was a rhetorical question with so many others behind it. Why couldn’t he get Jennifer’s voice out of his head. Why couldn’t he just ask a pretty girl out. Why did he have to be like this?

 

“You’re...just  _ different _ , Martin.” Linda shrugged. There was that word again.  _ Different _ . Why did he have to be  _ different _ ?

 

Silence hung in the air and he shifted awkwardly from his left foot to his right. Linda’s smile wavered a little. “Well...I’m going to go now.” She offered weakly, then paused. “Maybe what you think you ought to want isn’t what you really want. Does it have to be a bad thing? Just something to think about.” That said, Linda turned and took her leave of the flight deck and Martin sank into his chair, dragging his hat down into his lap.

 

Again. It happened again. Every time he might have had a chance, every time he worked up the nerve to pursue romance, there that voice was in the back of his mind, telling him the relationship was doomed to failure, reminding him of Jenny’s tear-stricken request. A miserable sigh wrenched its way out of him...and it wasn’t because Linda had turned him down, or that Jennifer had been his last proper relationship. Somehow, creepingly, he’d finally put together what Jenny had been trying to tell him, much as he’d tried to avoid it. Somehow, this flight, this moment, he’d reached the realization that he was  _ tired _ . He was tired of fighting himself and pushing himself and denying the truth to himself.

 

“I’m gay.” He told GERT-I, placing a palm on the cool surface of the instrument panel. 

 

[][][][][][][][][][]

 

“You alright, Martin? …………….Martin?”

 

Martin jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, knocking back his chair at the kitchen table and hitting the floor with his limbs all akimbo whilst the owner of the hand also jumped at his reaction, sending the open packet of crisps in their other hand sailing through the air before dumping the contents over the floor and the pilot on it. Martin took a deep breath, holding still with his eyes shut and just letting the fact that this was his life wash over him before he blinked his eyes open to see Molly peering down at him with concern.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah…” Martin sighed, slowly shifting out of the wreckage to pick himself up, brushing crisp crumbs off. “Sorry, I...er...didn’t notice you there.”

 

“So I saw. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Molly smiled and reached up, brushing a few stray crisps out of his hair.

 

“Oh! Blast! Your crisps! I-I-I’m sorry, I’ll get you a new bag, let me just pop to the shop, I’ll-” Martin stopped mid-sentence and in the midst of grabbing his keys off the hook when Molly burst into laughter.

 

“It’s okay, Martin.” She managed between fits of giggles. “Really, don’t bother, it’s fine.”

 

Martin slowly let his shoulders relax and before he knew it her laughter had infected him and they laughed for several minutes before recovering.

 

“There’s that smile.” Molly commented on a sigh as she caught her breath. “You’ve been a little distant this week, like you’re mind is somewhere else.”

 

“Oh? I have? Sorry, I guess I-I’ve just been...thinking a lot.” Martin stuttered out. Truth be told he’d spent the past week a nervous wreck. Every time Douglas incidentally touched him, be it hands as he passed him a weather report or a small bump as they maneuvered past one another in the small space that was the portacabin, he was now hyper-aware of it. So of course that led to him actively day-dreaming up situations that were so far beyond unprofessional he would never be allowed to leave the sexual harassment seminar they would send him to if they knew. Sometimes he caught Douglas looking at him.  _ Staring _ at him, actually. Like he  _ knew _ . Like he knew  _ exactly _ what Martin was thinking. So that was it, there was no way he could relax at work anymore. Or home, apparently.

 

“Well, you know the cure to over-thinking, right?” Martin jumped again as Andy joined the conversation and when had he even come in? Andy didn’t wait for a response before answering his own question. “Drinking!”

 

“Oh, yes, you should come with us tonight, Martin!” Molly exclaimed. “Finals just finished this morning so we thought we’d have a little celebration.”

 

“Oh! ….Thank you…...I...That is, I don’t want to bother-”

 

“You’re really not a bother, mate.” Andy rolled his eyes in exasperation.

 

“It’s settled, then, you’re coming.” Molly proclaimed. “Now, help me clean up this mess before Andy manages to step on every single one.” She lightly smacked Andy’s shoulder. “Could you  _ be _ more of a nuisance, you git?”

 

[][][][][][][][][][]

 

“Cheers!”

 

Five pints rose upward and clanked together with some slight sloshing before they were upended into mouths. Martin’s glass hit the table with a satisfying thud and he sighed with contentment. This was exactly what he needed. The awkward feeling of not belonging that clung to him had shed away by the third round and a pleasant warmth had settled in his stomach, glowing up from there into his cheeks. It was the first time he’d felt relaxed since Newcastle. A slight smile played over his lips as he watched a few of his housemates and more than a few strangers dance and laugh and converse animatedly.

 

“How goes, Martin?” Two arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind his chair and gave a light squeeze before Molly plopped into the seat beside him, her cheeks flushed from dancing.

 

“Brilliant!” Martin blinked at how loud his voice sounded to his own ears and the slight wobble the room took as he turned his head to face her. She giggled.

 

“No driving home tonight, got it? Call, er, what’s his name again? Your first mate?”

 

Martin burst out laughing and the room spun and twirled disconcertingly.

 

“First mates are on the water.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“I’m not sure Douglas is the kind of friend you call after a night at the pub.”

 

“I think he’s  _ exactly _ the guy you drunk dial.” Molly laughed, then added, “Besides, you want to call him, I can tell.”

 

Martin fell silent a moment as he digested that, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach.

 

“Am I that obvious?”

 

Molly’s smile softened and she put an arm over his shoulder and leaned her head against him for a moment.

 

“Totally smitten. Don’t worry so much about it, it’s nice to fancy someone, enjoy the moment. On that note, I’m going to go find Tom.” She kissed his cheek and disappeared off into the crowd of bodies moving in tandem with the beat of the music. Martin swallowed the lump in his throat and downed the last of his drink, then made his way to the bar.

 

“Another, please.”

 

The bartender nodded and produced another pint.

 

“Cheers.” Martin murmured and sipped it, mulling over Molly’s advice. He definitely shouldn’t be driving home, that’s for certain. He pulled out his mobile and turned it around in his hands. Maybe he  _ should _ call Douglas. His nerves prickled at him and he jiggled his leg restlessly. He put his mobile down and finished off his drink in one go.

 

“Another?” the bartender asked, poised to fill a pint.

 

Martin nodded anxiously.

 

“I’m, er...working up the nerve to call someone.” He chuckled nervously, taking several small sips of his drink. The bartender rose a brow but didn’t comment.

 

“Douglas.” Martin continued, feeling like some sort of weight lifted from his chest just saying the name. “My copilot. I’m an airline captain. We fly together. In a plane. Well, a jet. A Lockheed McDonnell 312. Do you know planes?”

 

The bartender sighed heavily and turned his back to Martin, rearranging some of the bottles behind the bar.

 

“I know planes,” Martin announced proudly. “I can name anything that flies in the sky….not birds, but like…”

 

“Planes?” The bartender offered wearily as he turned and gave Martin his best bone-deep uncaring face.

 

“Yeah! I-”

 

“What a great idea.” The man behind the bar interrupted, picking up Martin’s mobile from the bar and placing it in his hand. “Why don’t you give your mate a call?”

 

“First mates are on the water, Douglas is my first officer.”

 

“Mm-hmm, I’m sure. Give him a ring.”

 

Martin took one last sip of his drink and found Douglas in his contact list. His finger hovered for just a moment before he punched it, bringing the phone to his ear.

 

“Hello, Martin.” Douglas’ voice rumbled over the line, sending faint trills zinging down Martin’s spine.

 

“I’m the captain!” Martin told him, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony of background noise and his heart thudding in his chest.

 

“Good God, Martin, are you making house calls about it now?” Douglas quipped and Martin held in the giggles that threatened to erupt. Douglas was so  _ funny _ ! What was his point again? He shook his head a little to clear it and picked back up on his train of thought.

 

“And you...you’re…” The words felt strange in his mouth, like they were tumbling over each other in a mad rush for the door and squeezing past one another on the way out. “You’re the first officer!”

 

“I had surmised as much from the two years we’ve been flying together, captain.”

 

“As first officer, you have to...have to come flyyyy with me…” Martin warbled, aided by the alcohol in his system. It took him a moment to remember the reason he was calling, other than wanting to listen to Douglas talk. “Fly, fly my van!”

 

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting goal, to say the least...where are you?”

 

“I’m...I’m just great, Douglas.” Martin grinned goofily, leaning heavily on the bar.

 

“Not  _ how _ are you, Martin,  _ where _ .”

 

“At a bar.” Douglas really wasn’t very quick on the uptake when Martin was drunk, was he?

 

“Hmm, yes, I rather thought as much. Any chance you know the address, so I might ascertain where I am going in order to ‘fly your van’?”

 

[][][][][][][][][]

 

“GERT-I is  _ beautiful _ !” Martin half-shouted, half-slurred. “You just...you just don’t see Lockheed McDonnell’s anymo-Oh!”

 

Martin couldn’t hold back the grin that erupted as he spotted Douglas making his way through the bar. As soon as he was within arm’s reach the captain shifted off of the bar. He’d only intended on standing but found himself pitched forward into Douglas’ chest with both arms wrapped around him to catch himself.

 

“Douglas! You’re here!” Martin let himself stretch out the moment, soaking up the feeling of Douglas’ chest so solid and his hands dancing around his hips to help him keep balance before shifting to address the bartender. “This, this is Douglas, but I’m the captain!”

 

“Why don’t we get you home to sleep this off, captain?” Douglas suggested, his hands taking a firmer grip at Martin’s waist to physically turn him in the direction of the exit.

 

“Tha...That’s so nice...you take care of me. You...you’re brilliant!” Martin told him, letting Douglas manhandle him through the crowd and out into the night air, one arm still hooked around his waist to keep him upright. Together they walked across the street to Douglas’ Lexus and settled inside for the ride home.

 

“Martin, would you like to go to mine?” Douglas asked.

 

Unbidden, images of cinematic moments burst in Martin’s vision. An invitation in at the end of the night, flirting and kisses and falling into a bed or couch or wherever else the night led two bodies. He blinked and suddenly it occurred to him that Douglas was offering for him to kip on the couch or spare bed and nervous laughter bubbled up unbidden.

 

“That...that is  _ very _ forward, Douglas Richardson!” He snickered before another giggle shook it’s way out of his chest. Douglas chuckled and the two of them sighed out the last of the humor into a comfortable silence.

 

“So,” Douglas smiled as he shifted gears, “what possessed you to go out drinking tonight, captain?”   
  


“Final exams are over.”

 

“Ah. And when did you enroll in school exactly?”

 

Martin chuckled and shifted in his seat to get comfortable, feeling like a restless energy was wriggling within him.

 

“The-the students that live in my building...they’re very good at…” he was about to say drinking games when he leaned forward and what was just a glance turned into a stare at Douglas’ face. “You have the...the most beautiful eyes…”

 

Martin quickly looked away as soon as Douglas glanced in his direction and shifted again in his seat, looking up at the sky. Lights glimmered and blinked far above, and Martin wondered if kissing the man next to him would be anything like flying planes.

 

[][][][][][][][][][]

 

“Alright, Martin, in here, let’s get those shoes off.” Douglas maneuvered Martin into sitting on the bed. The captain tried to lean down to wrangle the left shoe off and nearly fell forward, but strong hands took his shoulders and kept him upright, then helped him remove each shoe in turn.

 

Martin slumped back on the bed and looked up at the man in front of him. He wanted him. He couldn’t deny it anymore and frankly he didn’t want to. The urge to  _ do something _ zinged through his muscles. He didn’t just want him, he wanted Douglas to  _ know _ .

 

Before he could think better of it his hands reached out of their own accord and tugged him down. The landing wasn’t perfect, it was actually pretty akin to Martin’s first time landing a plane. Douglas slammed down into his chest, knocking the wind out of him and his knee banged Martin’s thigh but he didn’t care. His hands found that jawline he admired so much and pulled him in until their lips were  _ finally _ touching, all the tension released in an instant.

 

“I always wanted to do that.” Martin told him, letting the feeling of relief wash over him.

 

“Do you...want to do it again?” Douglas asked on a shaky breath.

 

Martin pulled him in again and their lips met for the second time, playing against one another. This time Douglas shifted into it, tilting his head and burying a hand in his hair. Martin moaned at the sensation as their bodies shifted into a more comfortable position, fitting together in that same strange, tangled way they did in the flight deck. When the kiss ended Martin blinked open his eyes and smiled in a daze.

 

“Just like flying…” Suddenly, he was unbelievably tired. The weight of the tension that had acted like an anchor was lifted and he was floating away like a balloon with no string.

 

“Go to sleep, now.” Douglas murmured and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He made to shift away but Martin squeezed the fistful of his shirt he had.

 

“Stay with me.” He nuzzled into Douglas’ chest, breathing in the smell of soap and hint of aftershave Douglas always smelled of.

 

“Alright.” Douglas shifted them around until they were settled easily and Martin sighed when a hand started to play through his hair.

 

“Douglas?” Martin mumbled, earning a small hum from the older man. “Say stuff. Your voice...it’s really...really nice.”

 

Martin drifted off to the sound of Douglas reading Winnie-the-Pooh.

 

[][][][][][][][][][]

 

Martin was dreaming. He was sure he was dreaming, because his eyes were closed and he was pleasantly warm and there was a solid body next to him. Judging from the soft snoring it was Douglas, so this must be a good dream. Sighing softly, Martin opened his eyes blearily, blinking away the haze of sleep. Douglas was indeed lying next to him, face turned slightly away and limbs only partially tangled with Martin’s. This was starting to feel decidedly not dream-like. In fact it was beginning to feel disturbingly real, and not just because his head was absolutely pounding.

 

Martin frowned and sat up a little, spotting Winnie-the-Pooh on the bedside table. Suddenly it all came crashing back. The bar, the drinking, the call, the kiss.

 

“Oh God!” Martin winced at the volume of his own voice and grabbed his head to try to ease it but he couldn’t help it, he was panicking now.

 

“Five more minutes, dear.” Douglas grumbled and dragged his pillow over his ear.

 

Martin was not equipped to deal with this. Bracing himself for the waves of pain he was about to set into motion, he launched himself out of bed and stumbled a little as he tried to get his bearings straight, eyes darting around the room for his things.

 

“I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry, I feel bloody awful. This i-is entirely my fault. I’m such an idiot.” The apologies started to form before Martin even knew what he was saying the moment he saw Douglas peering out at him from under the pillow, and once it started it just wouldn’t stop. He spotted his shoes and dove for them, tugging them on like his life depended on it. Not bothering to tie them he started for the door when a hand pulled him back and he was forced to confront Douglas.

 

“I should never have gone out drinking. I knew I shouldn’t, but they’d never asked me before and it was just nice to be invited along and oh God, I can’t believe how bloody stupid I a-” And then Douglas had a hand on each side of his face and was just staring at him.

 

“Calm down.”

 

“...Hi.” Martin said at last when he could bring himself to meet that hazel gaze. What else did you say to your coworker, your  _ friend _ after something like this? He was completely out of his depth.

 

“Hi.” Douglas sighed in relief.

 

Martin could feel the tears starting to rise uncontrollably and he needed to  _ leave _ right now before he was reduced to a sobbing mess. He’d never fucked up this horribly in his life.

 

“I...I have to go…” he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and pulled away, escaping before anything more could be said or done.

  
Out on the street, Martin tugged his jacket to rights, pulling the hood up over his head. He wandered aimlessly for the better part of the hour, shoes still untied and head reinventing the beat of the mambo as he just focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not thinking about how he’d potentially just wrecked his entire life.


End file.
